


the dangerous type

by venomedveins



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Cars, Crime, Drinking, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Gang AU, Graphic Violence, Illusions to Human Trafficking (it is discussed but not in detail), M/M, Partying, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 162,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23519329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: In the city of Capua, the Southend is Rebel Territory. Ruled over by Spartacus and his gang, they run drugs and petty crimes to keep afloat, struggling in the slums and under belly of a corrupt metropolis. While, just across the river, Caesar's Romans live in luxury paid for with human blood. How long can these two stand at odds? And who pays the price when gang warfare comes onto home turf?
Relationships: Agron/Nasir, Auctus/Duro, Barca/Pietros, Chadara/Saxa, Crixus/Naevia, Mira/Spartacus
Comments: 168
Kudos: 328





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyo! Guess who is back with more crazy shit for you to enjoy?
> 
> If there is one thing that quarantine has done for it, it has allowed me to fully dive into all the head cannons and fics I've been planning since I climbed on this throne and called myself the Nagron Queen. 
> 
> I joke, I joke. In all honesty, I love you all and I'm so glad that I finally got off my ass and started writing this for you. It's a lil Shameless. A lil Fast & Furious (only the 1st one, sorry Tokyo Drift). Maybe a lotta Boondock Saints. Regardless, it's all Spartacus. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Fog clings heavy and thick along the abandoned docks; the streetlamps skewed hazy and gold, reflecting back until everything is dark and gloomy. Boats rock and thump along the damp boards, muffled and dark, their decks lost in shadows. There is a storm brewing in the west, the thunderheads rolling and growing as they move closer, lightening scattering high as a warning. It won’t be long now until the it breaks. 

A railroad bridge connects one side of the river to another, the base made of thick stones. It creates some sort of coverage, enough that the men huddled underneath nearly blend into the dark behind them. Only the flicker of a lighter, quick and sharp, gives any indication that they’re there. 

“Why the fuck are we still out here?” Seppius snarls, arms crossed tightly and tucked against his body. It’s muggy out, but there is a chill that clings to the water edge. “They’re not coming.”

“Patience, cousin.” Sextus, perched on a low fence, kicks his heels against the wood. The cigarette in his mouth is half hanging, the embers a dull orange in the dark. “Caesar wants us to wait so we wait.”

“Fuck Caesar.” Seppius’ mutters to himself, squinting out into the fog. They’re hidden under the bridge, encased in shadow and mist, but Seppius doesn’t trust it. The stairs to the street are behind them, slick with rain, and muffling any noise from footsteps. They’re too open, lingering like fucking runners instead of the high ranks that they are.

“What are we even waiting for?” Seppius hisses again, turning to his cousin. “This is fucking bullshit. We’re not some fucking low leech trying to make ranks. Caesar wouldn’t even have the money for this shit if it weren’t for me and my father.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Sextus scoffs, rolling his eyes. He’s been flipping through his phone, nonchalant and uncaring in his unbuttoned polo, looking the very part of a trust fund prodigy. “It’s not about money. It’s about the connections. Caesar would only send us if he wanted to make sure it went through. So, wait and shut your mouth.”

“I’m tired of running for errands for him.” Seppius kicks a Sperry into the planks, cringing at the pain radiating through his heel. “You know, we could own this whole thing-“

His words falter, lost like mist in the growing fog as noise radiates along the bricks. It’s a high-pitched sort of jingle, a whistle echoing out along the docks and into the still darkness. The whistle continues, a slow crescendo followed by the clipping of boots on cobblestones. The haze takes the noise and forces it into surround sound, bouncing off every surface without a source. 

“Who’s there?” Seppius calls out, fingers curling into fists at his side. “Show yourself!”

The whistle pitches low and then high, a taunting melody that swoops through the still air. It’s enough that Sextus finally puts away his phone, slipping down from his perch. They should be waiting for the sound of a boat, the slow horn or dipping of oars, not a bright diddly from the depths of the night. The curling voice dipping over and over into a ‘come out, come out, wherever you are’ tone. 

“Seppius,” Sextus whispers, reaching out for his cousin to start backing them up towards the stairs. “Come on.”

“Who the fuck is there?” Seppius snarls, standing his crowd. “Come out, motherfucker! I want to see your face when I fucking gut you.”

“Oy.” A voice calls from the depth, the whistling stopping abruptly to be replaced by a deep voice. “Did you hear that brother?”

“Such language.” Another voice answers, the words followed by a soft tsk. “And from Caesar’s most noble men?”

“I’m frankly appalled.”

“And the manners!”

“Unacceptable.”

Under streetlamp’s glow, figures begin to emerge from the mist. It’s hard to make out the details, both looming broad and tall, like chiseled twins from the deep. The taller one strains against his t-shirt, the gray fabric clinging against his arms, hem tight around his bicep that is curled to a hold a baseball bat against his shoulder. A sharp, wide grin spreads across the other’s face, a little wild and wicked, a mess of curls half damp in the gleaming light. He, too, is holding a bat, the handle tapping staccato against the bricks as they make their way closer. 

“Now tell me, what are Caesar’s little rats doing out here all on their own?” The curly haired man smirks. They’re walking casually, almost like they’re taking a slow stroll instead of slinking through the shadows of an abandoned dock. 

“Looks to me like they’re waiting on something.” The other replies, musing through a smirk. “So far from their little mansions and Italian sportscars though. Looks like they’re a little out of their element, don’t you think, brother?”

“Stop right there.” Seppius pulls the switchblade from his pocket, the handle only barely trembling in his grip. He’s not the best at hand to hand, but Seppius can be deadly if he puts his mind to it. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Seppius,” Sextus murmurs, still reaching out to snag his fingers in his cousin’s shirt. “We should go.”

“No. Stop where you are! Who the fuck do you think you are?” Seppius taunts, sharp and loud in the stillness. “You’re dead fucking meat. This is Caesar territory.”

“Oh.” The tall one swings his bat down from his shoulder, tipping his head in a mock bow. “But I think your little friend there already knows who we are, don’t you?”

Squaring his feet along the rough and jagged boards, Sextus reaches into his pocket to fumble with his phone. It’d be too obvious to try and make the call. Their best bet is to run to the stairs, try and get up onto the main level to draw the inevitable fight into the public eye. But is their enough times to get there? The brothers before him are only a few feet away now, grinning wide. 

“Giesler.” Sextus spits, mouth full of saliva. 

Caesar had briefed them about the two German brothers – the Beasts East of the Rhine. A pair in Spartacus’ deadly force – probably one of the worst, high ranked and deadly. Agron, the older, was known among the Roman’s as Spartacus’ personal pitbull, unleashed only at the gang leader’s whim. He’s his right-hand man, his body guard, the muscle that is deployed only when there is to be no remains. Duro, his younger brother, raised in his brother’s image – deadly with any weapon he can get his hands on. 

“Do you know what’s coming next?” Duro, the wild one, grins wider, eyes flickering from the cousins and then up to his brother. 

Seppius charges then, the knife slicing wildly through the air. It catches across Agron’s cheek, the blade skinning over sharp bone and splitting it into a jagged line. Blood pools up and then begins to drop down, the cut shallow. Agron raises his hand to it, wipes at the crimson onto the side of his hand, pulling away with an impressed little twist to his mouth. 

“Caesar draws first blood.” Agron’s green eyes look like beacons, even in the dark, as he flickers his gaze up. “And Spartacus sends his regards.”

The baseball bat makes a soft swoosh sound even in the muffled night, a breeze disrupting the bated breath, before crimson explodes from Seppius’ mouth in a spray. The crack is nearly deafening under the bridge, bouncing and echoing along with Duro’s shout of delight as he gives chase. Sextus barely makes it to the railing before the wood is connecting into shoulder, forcing him onto his knees. There is no one down here to see, no one to raise alarm or give cause to pause. 

Agron is a powerhouse, chest thick with muscle as he slams the bat into Seppius’ ribs, forcing him further onto the ground. Spartacus had been clear – a warning nothing more. He won’t beat Seppius into death, but when Agron is done, Seppius will hope for it. Behind them, Sextus’ shouts are lost in the fog as Duro kicks his steel toes into the other’s back, his legs, his chin. 

Surprisingly, Seppius does try and put up a fight, fists bouncing off Agron’s shoulders, his stomach, as he tries to grab hold. Agron easily shoves the man back to the earth though with a powerful hook to his already bleeding jaw, the crimson dripping to mix into the puddles along the stones and weak boards. Duro, seemingly done with Sextus, who lays in a pool of his own blood, groaning into the night, comes to watch as Agron crouches down, holding Seppius’ head up by his hair. 

“Let Caesar know, if you have the teeth left, to keep his fucking leeches out of Rebel territory.” Agron spits the words through his own snarl. “Our people aren’t for sale.”

Seppius’ can barely nod, blood dripping from his slack jaw as his eyes roll. Agron pats him roughly on his cheek, letting the man collapse back into the boards. No one is around to witness the two brothers dipping their bats in the river water nearby, the blood washing away from the polished wood. The cloud of pink disappears into the darkness, evidence lost as the whistling starts again and the soft clip of boots on the stairs up to the street. 

\- - - 

Taking in a deep breath, Agron collapses back into the bench seat of the van, draping a hand over his eyes. His body is still tingling, adrenaline rushing even as he tries to come down, sweat sticking his shirt to his back. There is a dull headache working up from his cheek into his temple, the blood having slowed but the wound still fresh enough to twinges when Agron shifts around too much. It could have been a lot worse, considering, but half the time with Caesar’s group, their either too weak or too stupid to know what to do with weapons. 

Through squinted eyes, Agron pulls his phone from his pocket – his personal one, not the burner. This one has a picture of brown eyed man as the wallpaper, the sun gleaming on his hair as he tilts his head back mid-laugh, the ocean a blur behind him. Agron only allows himself a half moment to get distracted before he’s opening his messages and sending one off to Spartacus. 

_It’s done. Brief you tomorrow._

Shoving his phone back, Agron cranes his head into the headrest, letting his eyes shut. Duro and Auctus are laughing about something in the backseat, Lugo shouting in German up front with Donar. There is always a high, a hype to successfully pulling something, the opportunity to let off a little steam and become hyper aware of their own power. Agron can get that way sometimes, let the frenzy move through him, but he’s tired and he’s ready to be deep in his own bed. 

“You’re coming out, right?” Duro’s voice is suddenly loud in Agron’s ear. “Come on!”

“You know he’s not,” Auctus tries to tug on his shoulder, failing to budge the other man. 

“Why not? We should celebrate!” Duro cries, punching the back of Agron’s seat. “If you could have seen the look on those guys’ face when the realized who we are.”

“I’m not going out.” Agron grumbles, blinking wearily at them. “Donar, drop me at home, yeah?”

“You got it.” Donar nods, turning the wheel to take the next exit. He’s careful not to let his gaze linger on Agron. 

“No!” Duro croons miserably, again landing a blow to the back of Agron’s chair. “You never go out with us! Come on!”

“You know why he’s not,” Lugo is half turned in the passenger seat, sending a lewd wink towards Agron. “Tell the little man I said hello.”

“Oh god.” Duro fakes a gag, finally releasing his hold on his brother’s shoulder. “Okay, never mind.”

“Come on, Duro,” Lugo laughs loudly, reaching out to slap Agron’s knee. “If you had the choice between going to get drunk with some strangers or go home to get some, what would you choose?”

Faking gagging, Duro dramatically collapses into Auctus’ waiting arms. “I’m not answering that.”

“Aaand we’re done talking about my sex life.” Agron rolls his eyes, shifting so he can sit up further in his seat. The neighborhood is beginning to look familiar, tall, stacked houses with dark porches, front yards overrun with weeds and forgotten toys. It’s not yet the slums, but it’s definitely getting there.

“I have a question about it,” Lugo starts, much to the groans of the other men, “Wait! I do!”

“Do we have to?” Donar mutters, slowing at a stop sign. His mouth pinches into a twist of disdain. 

“I just have a fucking question!” Lugo throws his hands up. “How am I supposed to know anything if I don’t fucking ask? Come on!”

“What is it?” Auctus asks, trying to be ever the diplomat. He’s ignoring Duro’s whining protest, patting his head lightly. 

“So, Agron, you’re a gay man.” Lugo states matter of fact, now nearly all the way turned in his seat. 

“I am.” Agron agrees, slowly nodding his head. 

“And like most gay men, you have anal sex, right?” Lugo is nearly drowned out by Duro’s wailing gag from the back. Auctus is quick to cover his mouth with his hand though, shushing him. 

“Regularly.” Agron agrees, grinning wide when Duro’s shout is muffled behind him. 

“Okay. So. When you’re with a girl, right?” Lugo begins, accent thick around the words. “And it’s like your birthday or your anniversary or something special right?”

Agron’s eyes meet Donar’s in the rearview mirror, eyebrow raised. He has no idea where this is going. 

“Um, sure?”

“So, if it’s like an occasion, sometimes, a girl will let you hit the back door, ya know?” Lugo wiggles his hand back and forth, parallel to the floor. 

“Are you saying,” Duro finally frees his mouth, words barely getting around his giggles, “when it’s your birthday a girl lets you do anal?”

“Yeah!” Lugo shouts, relieved at someone understanding. “But if you’re already doing that, what is like the gay version of that?”

“You want to know the gay version of anal?” Agron’s face twinges from his wide grin, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah!” Lugo has to raise his voice even louder to get over the bellows of laughter around him. “I mean, you’re so fucking limited! Like, all you can do is stick it in. Plus! Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

“Tired of sticking it in?” Auctus has to interject now, leaning over to see Lugo clearer. 

“No, tired of just doing it one way.” Lugo shrugs. “With a girl, you can do it in so many ways. She can be on top. She can be on her back. There are these holes and crevices to…ya know…put stuff. With a guy, it’s like doggy style and that’s it.”

“Oh no,” Donar groans from the front seat, turning the wheel. “Please stop.”

“I guess you guys can blow each other,” Lugo shrugs. “But that’s so…this or that. What’s the appeal? Doing it with a girl, there’s so many options. Guys, it’s like, here’s my cock. Have fun.”

Agron knows Seppius didn’t get a chance to hit him, but he’s sure he’s cracked a rib from laughing so hard. He’s never heard something so fucking dumb in his life, only made better by Lugo’s red and bewildered face. 

“What?” He bellows, smacking a hand down on his seat. “You can’t deny that! I haven’t had sex with a guy, but I just imagine you both pull your pants off and then that’s it.”

“Is that what you think?” Duro gets out between his giggles. “Gay sex is just sticking our dicks in each other’s ass in one position? Like, one of us just bends over and says ‘go for it big boy’ and that’s it?”

“Big boy?!” Auctus cries, clapping loudly in delight. “Fucking big boy?”

“I really didn’t need to know that’s what you call your boyfriend,” Agron groans, rubbing at his forehead. “Like I really, really didn’t need to know that.”

“Well yeah!” Lugo sputters, shrugging. “Your asshole is like….back there. Like far back there. How the fuck are you supposed to get to it if they’re on their back? What guy do you know can put his legs behind his head?”

Agron and Auctus’ eyes meet between the seats, both of them raising their brows, mouths tilted in surprised contemplation. It’s an unspoken agreement not to start listening the men they know, but it’s clear there are enough to be counted. Agron is the first one to turn back to Lugo, hooking his hands together in a steeple before his mouth. 

“Lugo, my dear friend,” Agron begins slowly. “Have you ever googled gay porn?”

“Wh-Why would I have to google gay porn?” Lugo sputters, eyes wide. “Half my fucking friends are gay! I don’t have to google it. I can just ask you!”

“Listen, I would love to explain to you how incredibly flexible Duro can be when I get him in the right mood," Auctus begins, clapping a rough hand to Agron’s shoulder, “but to save poor Agron from hearing the details of his baby brother, I’ll refrain.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Agron sends a blessing up to the sky, seeing his house out the front windshield. 

“Hey!” Duro pokes his head up, face red. “Don’t talk about me like that! You can’t be airing out our business like that.”

“Like what? I didn’t say anything,” Auctus defends, throwing his hands up. “You are flexible!”

“Yeah, but you’re making it sound like I’m some sort of slutty twink.” Slumping back in his chair, Duro pouts out the window. 

“What’s a twink?” Lugo asks, glancing around the van. “I don’t understand.”

“Thank you Donar.” Agron’s voice raises above the others, leaning forward to clap the man on the shoulder. “Good luck and god speed.”

“Please don’t leave me.” Donar begs, turning to place his hand on Agron’s wrist. 

“Sorry, man,” Agron laughs, slipping from the inside and onto the pavement. “I got someone waiting on me. And yeah, I’d definitely choose him over getting drunk with strangers. Or having more of this conversation.”

He takes a deep breath before turning his gaze towards Lugo, slowly shaking his head. 

“Lugo, my dear friend, please fucking learn to use Google.”

He can hear Lugo’s indignant shouts even as the van pulls away, a blur of sound in the mostly still neighborhood. There is a can at the end of the road that rolls with the wind, a lost article from the piles of trash left out for the next morning. The streetlight at the corner flickers ominously, scattering shadows over the dark houses, the looming windows, the porches half sagged to one side. 

Agron’s house is the only one on the block with a working front gate, the chain link fence actually repaired with wire instead of zip ties. Pulling his keys from his pocket, Agron has to undo two deadbolts and then the knob before the front door swings in, creaking loudly into the front hallway. He leans his bat against the corner, mixed in with the random shoes and the umbrellas left abandoned on the cracked linoleum. 

It’s dark in the living room, the details of the room left in shadows. Agron moves blindly down into the dining room, using muscle memory to know where the chairs are, the couch, the table that has actually been cleared off all the crap that usually accumulates there. It feels familiar, the safe place that Agron can lock the rest of the world from, can finally feel like he’s home.

The light above the sink has been left on though in the kitchen, the fluorescent casting the room in a dull blue. There are photos on the fridge, held up by faded fruit magnets. They surrounded the crooked bottle opener, the dry erase board with a list of groceries written in thick marker. Agron moves to fill a cup full of water, suddenly parched, when the sticky note on the microwave catches his eye. He reaches over to remove it, grinning at the small, scratchy handwriting. 

_Hope you were safe_  
Dinner is in here. Heat up for 2mins.  
Love you 

The end of the u is curled up on the cursive, the tail ending in a small, filled in heart. Agron lets his thumb trace over the words, marveling at the simple act. It never fails to amaze him how domestic shit like this can shake him, a kindness that Agron would have never known without the man probably sleeping upstairs. 

He doesn’t reheat the food, leaves it there with his glass of water on the counter, before checking the backdoor and heading upstairs. Now that he’s home and out of the attention of his friends, Agron can feel the weariness settling into his body, muscles sore and overexerted from the adrenaline rushing through them. There is blood on his shirt, under his nails, and his face aches when he looks in the bathroom mirror. He looks exactly how he should after beating a man nearly to death. 

It feels like he’s operating on autopilot as he showers, digging his fingers into his skin as he scrubs the blood off. There are only small band aids in the medicine cabinet, so Agron makes do with what he can, covering the scratch along his cheek, hiding the worst of it. It’s not a deep cut, but it’s thin and sharp and aches dully when he moves his jaw. Agron won’t feel guilty about what he’s done. It was pay back, a warning, for Caesar and his fucking men to stay out of Spartacus’ territory. To stop trying to kidnap and then sell people. To stop selling their cheap, laced drugs like they have the right. It’s more than an argument about gang territory – it’s the difference between life and death. 

Agron enters the bedroom silent, lets the streetlamp outside act as he guide as sets his phone to charge on the nightstand next to his watch. There is still a gun there, the .45 loaded and within reach anytime that Agron may need it, the knife under his side of the bed a heavy reminder of the ‘what if’. He can only let himself relax, can only roll his shoulders back and actually look, once he knows everything is where it’s supposed to be. 

“Fuck,” Agron exhales slowly, a ghost of a breath in the still room. 

Sprawled on his stomach, Nasir is all tan skin and tangled hair above the sheets. It’s warm in the bedroom, a box fan in the window slowly pushing the sticky air from outside in. He’s wearing a satin pair of tulip shorts, the black fabric loose even as sweat clings along his back. One leg raised up by his side, Nasir is curled in against the mattress, a protective stance. Agron lets himself take it in, drink in the curls on his shoulders, the gold chain around one of his ankles, the desperate sort of way Nasir’s fingers curl in Agron’s pillow. 

Agron abandons his towel, slips onto the bed on his knees. The mattress is older, harder than what either would like, so it doesn’t jostle much as his weight sinks into it. Agron doesn’t want to rush this, cherishes the slow rise and fall of Nasir’s back, the curve of his waist, the dip of his spine into his hip. Nasir is all smooth lines and sharp edges, perfectly poised in sleep, Agron almost feels bad. He should just kiss his shoulder, slip around him and go to sleep, but he’s hard and Nasir deserves to be given every pleasure that Agron can provide. 

Instead, he leans down to press a kiss to the back of Nasir’s thigh, trailing his lips higher in a slow march up and up and up. With searching fingers, Agron flips the hem of his shorts over, reveals the smooth skin along the curve of his ass Here, Agron lets his mouth linger open, trailing his tongue in a small circle before his teeth barely press, drawing a slow mark into the soft skin. 

“Hmm?” Nasir groans, shifting a little. He’s waking up, drawn back by Agron leaning in further, lapping a slow tongue along the dark space where his legs and ass meet, tracing along the curve. 

“Shh.” Agron sooths, tugging on the shorts, twisting to reveal what he wants. “It’s okay.”

““Ah…gron?” Nasir drags his face down his pillow, peeking out between strands of dark hair and half opened eyes. 

“Just relax. I’ve got you.” With the way Nasir’s leg curls up by his hip, it’s the perfect position for Agron to lean in, inhaling slow as his tongue presses against Nasir’s opening. 

And was it even a question, the choice between going out and coming home to this? Agron can’t imagine his night not ending like this, slowly waking his boyfriend, feeling the way his body twitches into consciousness, tongue buried deep inside of him. Nasir tastes like salt and skin, smells like that mint soap in their shower, feels so good trembling under Agron’s hands. He is addicted to the half hitches of breath Nasir whimpers as he full comes awake, hand skittering over the blankets until his fingers can bury in Agron’s hair. 

“Shit,” Nasir hisses, elbow digging into the mattress as he cranes his head back to look. His fingers tense in Agron’s damp hair, fingertips digging in as Agron slides in further, straining the hem of his shorts. “Oh fuck.”

Half asleep, hazy eyed with it, Nasir rocks back against him, gasping loudly in the darkness. It’s so hot in the room, sweat gleaming on his skin as he shifts, rolls into the slick press of Agron’s tongue instead of him. Nasir doesn’t mind being woken up like this, the slow press of Agron’s body on his, the easy way they mold around one another. He lets his fingers stray from his hair, trace over Agron’s temple, up until he can grip the waistband of his shorts. 

Agron pulls back with a wet sound, chin slick with spit and sweat, watches through heavy eyes as Nasir shifts, pushing his shorts down, the waistband scrapping along his ass. He helps; Agron gripping the thin fabric and trailing it over Nasir’s thighs, down off his calves and then feet, tossing it off the bed. It frees Nasir to roll over, hooking one leg over Agron’s lap, reaching for him with desperate hands. 

He’s hard, cock straining against his stomach, dripping. Agron teases a hand along him, strokes up to play with the head, watching Nasir’s eyes roll. He’s not being as slow as he wants, rushing, but what is he supposed to do when Nasir is like this? Warm and wanton and reaching for Agron like all he wants is for Agron to melt into him?

“You’re home early,” Nasir gasps into their kiss, mouth open and wanting. He’s rewarded with Agron’s tongue, pressing close and teasing, flicking against his teeth. It’s a tease, an echo of where Agron’s tongue had just been. 

“Didn’t want to go out.” Agron pulls back, moving down to trailing biting kisses along Nasir’s neck, sucking a slow mark just above his collarbone. “Wanted to come home to you.”

“To fuck me?” Nasir half laughs, half groans with the sharp hiss of pain from Agron’s teeth. “So romantic.”

“Are you objecting?” Agron’s green eyes gleam up at him, raising a brow as he flicks his tongue over Nasir’s nipple. “You can go back to sleep.”

“I could,” Nasir agrees, moaning low in his throat when Agron blows across him. “But I won’t.”

“Already awake?” Agron smirks up at him, trailing his fingers down over Nasir’s ass, roughly grabbing a handful. 

“Not into somnophilia,” Nasir gasps loudly, finding Agron’s gaze in the dark. “When you’re inside me, I want to feel it.”

Hooking his knees up high on Agron’s waist, Nasir shifts his weight, trying to dislodge him. Agron lets him roll them over, lays back against the warm blankets, stares up at Nasir as he gets settled on his lap. His hair is a tangled mess down one side, Nasir tucking it behind his ear before he leans in and kisses Agron sweetly on the mouth. 

The angle drags their cocks against one another, grinding slick with sweat and the left over water from Agron’s shower. Planting his hands on Nasir’s ass, Agron drags him forward, starts the slow rocking that drives Nasir into gasping pants. He reaches up, holds Agron’s jaw to better angle their kiss, pulling back after a moment with wide eyes. 

“What happened?” Nasir whispers, fingers ghosting over the trio of band aids on Agron’s cheek. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s shallow.” Agron soothes his hands up Nasir’s back, caressing over his skin. “I’m fine, babe.”

“Agron,” Nasir frowns, sitting back further. He drags his gaze over Agron’s smooth chest, fingers trailing to follow almost as if he’s checking for other hidden bandages. “I don’t like it when you do shit like this. Who did you even take with you? Does Spartacus know about this?”

“I took Duro and we were armed and I’m fine.” Agron reiterates, already seeing the mood beginning to wane. He doesn’t want to waste it, hooking his arms around Nasir’s waist and pulling himself up to sit, pressing them tightly together. “I’m fine, I promise. It barely broke skin.”

“You told me it was just a routine check.” Holding Agron’s jaw, Nasir ghosts a kiss over the bandages. “You said you weren’t going to get into trouble.”

“I had to take care of something,” Agron shrugs, lets his grip tighten on Nasir’s ass. “Spartacus asked me to and I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

Nasir purses his lips, clearly unconvinced, hands sliding along Agron’s shoulders. There is more he wants to say, trying to choose his words carefully, but gets distracted at the slow press of Agron’s lips to his own. The kiss this time is careful, open and wet from the beginning, but slow enough that Nasir barely realizes his rocking into Agron again, chasing the flutters of pleasure that curl in his stomach as their cocks grind against one another. 

“Get me the lube.”

Agron releases his hold around Nasir’s hips, slaps a hand down on his ass when Nasir has to lean over him to the beside table. He’s half tempted to distract him, to keep Nasir bent and wide, slip his tongue back instead just for another taste, but his cock twitches, dribbling and begging against his own stomach. He can’t deny what he really wants, and that is to be buried as deep as possible inside of Nasir. 

They resettle, Nasir on his back, hair a mess across the pillows, legs spread wide around the set of Agron’s shoulders. He’s working a pretty large mark just under Nasir’s left pec, fingers flicking up and down over his crack, teasing along the rim. He’s so warm down here, slick with lube and sweat, gasping loudly each time Agron presses a knuckle into his perineum. 

“Come on, come on.” Raising his arm, Nasir presses his hand into the headboard, trying to use it to rock back onto Agron’s fingers. “I need it.”

“Easy, babe.” Agron soothes, tilting his head up to watch Nasir’s face, track the flickers in his expression as Agron slips the first finger inside. “I’ve got you.”

“More.” Nasir moans deep, rolling his hips in a slow grind. “Agron, _please_.”

Agron knows Nasir, knows by now what makes him tick, what turns him on the most, what he needs to do to bring Nasir to a writhing, begging mess. Regardless of how much Nasir like to beg and whine and play, Agron never rushes this part. He’ll sooth Nasir’s cries, kiss him until he’s panting and moaning with legs wide and hands in his hair, but Agron will keep his fingers slow and steady, stretch him out and thorough until Nasir’s thighs are trembling against him. 

He’s three fingers deep, mouth caught around Nasir’s nipple, laving his tongue over the nub, when Nasir seems to have reached his peak. He’s whining high, pinned under Agron’s bulk and unable to roll down onto him. Desperate, Nasir reaches down, grips the sides of Agron’s mouth, guides him up over sweat slick skin, kisses him open mouthed and panting, fingers trailing down to his back. 

They’ve done it in probably every position possible, but this is Agron’s favorite. So close he can feel each movement Nasir’s body makes, his weight holding Nasir down to the mattress, gasping into each other’s mouths. Agron slips inside slowly, eyes tracking over Nasir’s face, watches his expression flicker, his mouth falling open on a low groan, whimpering when Agron brushes hair off his cheek. He waits until Nasir opens his eyes, until he shifts his unfocused gaze on Agron’s, caresses his fingers over Agron’s jaw. 

“There ya go,” Agron soothes, kissing Nasir sweetly, mouth soft and slow. “See? I always take care of you.”

Nasir is half out of it, nodding and leaning into Agron, raising his legs higher. He hooks them at the ankle, draws Agron further down until he’s blanketing over him, holding Nasir down into the mattress. It’s as much permission to move as Agron’s going to get, dropping his face to bury in Nasir’s neck, to lap and bite against the salty skin there, rolling his hips in quick, deep thrusts. 

They move together, arching against one another, curled so tightly together that there is no room between them, not even a gasp of breath. Nasir interlocks his arms around Agron’s shoulders, keeps him tight against him, moaning loud and high. He can barely breathe when they’re like this, fucked so deep he feels like he’s choking on it, dizzy from being drug up and down the bed. 

The headboard smacks against the wall, the wood chipping at the plaster there. It’s a steady beat staccato with Nasir’s raising cries, the noises punched out of him as Agron continues to move. He’s leaned up on his elbows, nuzzles his nose along Nasir’s jaw, tasting him and listening to him whimper. It’s a tight fit to reach between them, to strum his fingers over Nasir’s leaking cock, to try and get a steady stroke in. It ends up mostly with Nasir dragging along Agron’s abs, his fingertips coaxing at the tip. 

“Yeah,” Nasir chants, head tossed against the pillows, arching his back sharply. “Fuck! Oh fuck!”

Agron uses it as encouragement, leaning back just for a moment, just to watch the way his cock slides inside of Nasir, spearing him whole. It’s like his body is greedy for it, Nasir’s hole red and slick, gripping along Agron’s cock and sucking him in. His chest is covered in dark marks, sweat slick between his pecs, down onto his stomach, sticky where his cock rubs there incessantly. Agron wants to commit this image to memory, to remember each detail, Nasir’s wide mouth crying out, his eyes half lidded and staring up at him. 

Hooking his arm around Nasir’s hips, he lifts him higher up on his lap, changes the angle just enough that with the next thrust in, Nasir nearly screams. It’s easy to keep this going, Agron rotating against his prostate, pressing into it and holding. The way Nasir responds is mesmerizing, arching his hips, thrusting back with shaking legs. He’s stopped trying to make words, gripping onto the back of Agron’s neck, desperate to keep them close. 

It’s frantic when he finally spills over, shoot between them with a loud cry. Nasir’s body tightens down into a vice, legs clamped tight around Agron’s waist, his hands gripping hard into the muscles. Only his mouth is relaxed, moaning high and sharp until Agron kisses him, combats the frenzy with a slow tongue tracing the roof of his mouth. 

“Don’t stop.” He gasps, collapsing into the sheets below them; Nasir trailing his hands over Agron’s chest. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

There is no way Agron can last, half crazed from watching Nasir marveling at him, mouth half open in awe and rolling pleasure. He clamps his hands high on Nasir’s hips, holds him high and perfect to skirt along the edge of his prostate – just enough stimulus to make it good without hurting. Agron chases his own end, feels his balls draw tight and his cock twitching as Nasir squeezes down against him. It’s so fucking hot in their bedroom, both slick and sliding against one another, the perfect combination. It’s all chemical, all fucking burning passion, as Agron drops his head, watches his cock disappear into Nasir’s tight body a few more times before he pushes in deep as he can, feeling the rush over take him. 

Nerves fried, Agron doesn’t move, stuck kneeling and staring at Nasir. He’s all slow blinks and soft edges now, looking like a fucking vision, flushed and sweaty. Reaching, Nasir takes Agron’s free hand, guides it up so he can press a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist, a gentle flutter of his lips over Agron’s racing pulse. The other keeps trailing over Agron’s chest, content to pet over muscles that twitch and flex. It’s not secret that Nasir’s favorite part of Agron is his chest, content to pet and rest his head against it for hours, marveling at the way it moves when he easily picks Nasir up. 

It’s torture to pull out, groaning deep in his chest as Agron collapses against Nasir’s side, guides his face to the side so he can reach him easier. He peppers kisses over his forehead, along his cheeks, across his jaw before easing their lips together. Warmth spreads through Agron’s chest, filled with emotion he knows belongs solely to the man against him. It’s wanton and slow, tongues sliding against one another, panting and gasping breath against one another. 

“Love you baby.” Agron whispers, nuzzling his nose against Nasir’s. “I really do.”

“I love you too.” Nasir answers, fingers trailing through Agron’s hair. He seems to want to say something more, gaze dropping to the band aids surprisingly still on Agron’s cheek, but he drops it in favor of kissing him again. 

It’s a while until Agron has the strength to pull himself away from Nasir, drawn back in each time by his soft mouth and hands. Still, he manages to pry himself away from the bed long enough to grab a washcloth, cleaning them both off before stripping the comforter off the bed. It’s still too hot for covers, so they end up curling up together on top again, Agron pressed against Nasir’s back, his arm over his waist. 

“What time do you have to work tomorrow?” Agron murmurs, helping Nasir push his hair up and off his neck. 

“Oenomaus said around ten.” Nasir yawns, stretching his leg out in front of him, half rolled onto his stomach. “We have that new car coming in for Spartacus. Promised I’d start on the wiring system.”

“Mmkay.” Agron blinks wearily at the clock. It’s nearly 3:30. He doesn’t even know what time he got home. He’s nodding off already, exhausted from all the physical activity and content to rest curled up against his boyfriend.

“Did you lock the door?” Jolting a little, Nasir turns his head half back to look at Agron. “When you came in?”

“And the back door.” Agron tightens his hold around Nasir’s waist, dropping a kiss to his shoulder. “Go to sleep, babe. I’ve got you. We’re safe.”

“Okay.” Nasir finally collapses all the way, half muffling his words as he slumps into the pillows. “Love you Ags. G’night.”

“Goodnight.”

It’s not for another thirty minutes that Agron can sleep though, finally lulled into the stillness by Nasir’s deep breathing, his body pressed close and tight. Here, finally, Agron let the tension in his shoulders relax, can forget about Caesar and the Romans, can forget about everything outside of this bed, outside of Nasir’s smooth skin and the easy way they fit together. 

\- - - 

He wakes to the soft bell of the microwave, the scent of cooked food and coffee wafting up from the downstairs. It throws Agron off for a minute, blinking into the dull morning light streaming in from the window. Nasir is curled up against Agron's side, face tucked into his shoulder. He must have gotten chilled in the middle of the night, the sheets pulled up around him, tucked in a fist against his chest. Agron feels his chest tightening, just from looking at him. He’s perfect, softly breathing against Agron’s chest.

Pressing a kiss to Nasir's temple, Agron gently moves his arm out from under him, making sure Nasir is still asleep before he rolls over and slips from the bed. There are at least five people with keys to his house, so the possibility of someone coming over isn't that strange. It seems like there is always someone crashing on their couch or doing laundry in the basement. What is strange is that it's barely seven a.m. 

Yanking on a random pair of sweatpants, Agron rubs at his eyes as he makes his way downstairs. His body is pleasantly sore, back and hips twinging as he moves down the curve of the stairs. It's too fucking early to deal with anyone, especially when all Agron wants to do is go back and curl around his boyfriend for at least a few more hours. It's not going to happen though as the stairs drop him in the kitchen, the room already full.

Gannicus is perched on a stool by the kitchen island, a plate of what appears to be manicotti, steaming in front of him as he shovels forkfuls into his mouth. Lugo, looking worse for wear, is leaning heavily next to him, hand propped up on his fist. Donar, who seems to be fighting with Agron's old coffee machine, is the first to turn around at the noise.

"Morning."

"Jesus fuck," Agron groans, digging his fist further against his eye. "Why are you all here? It’s barely fuck’o’clock in the morning." 

"What do you mean? Spartacus texted us to meet here at eight," Donar raises an eyebrow, gaze skirting over him. "Didn't you check your phone?"

Agron squints his eyes closed, moving his hand down to rub at the back of his neck. He's not going to admit to the fact that he ignored his phone for other activities, and instead just sighs, making his way over to the coffee pot. It would be like Spartacus to want a debriefing of last night as soon as possible, though Agron isn’t entirely convinced Duro is going to make it here on time.

"No, I was sleeping."

"You don't look like you were sleeping," Gannicus smirks around a mouthful of food. There is a smear of red sauce in the corner of his mouth that he wipes with the back of his hand. 

Agron flips him off over the rim of his coffee, grimacing. He hadn’t exactly looked in the mirror before coming downstairs, but a quick glance down gives him some indication what he must look like. There are a few darker hickies on his chest, sweatpants slung low and crooked, clearly outline where Agron hadn’t bothered with underwear.

“I’m not judging.” Gannicus laughs, swallowing down his food before motioning with his fork towards Agron. “I’m just wondering if you look like that, should I be worried about the other guy?”

“Gannicus,” Donar scolds, wrinkling his nose, “Some tact, come on. We’re in his house.”

“No,” Lugo mutters, looking up through watering eyes. His accent is as thick as ever, stumbling over his words. “It’s a compliment. Nasir is…how you say…a wild man. Lots of teeth. And hair. And hissing. Agron is lucky he can treat him so well.”

“See!” Gannicus scrapes his fork on the plate, cutting into a noddle. “I’m congratulating you even. I know what a well fucked out guy looks like.”

“Please stop talking.” Donar grimaces. “I highly doubt this is what Agron wants to hear at seven in the morning.”

“He was clearly hearing it a few hours ago.” Gannicus smirks into his plate, raising a brow up at the other man. “Ain’t that right?”

"Are you eating my leftovers?" Agron glances pointedly towards the open microwave door, his glass of water now sitting in front of Gannicus too. 

“Someone left them out.” The Celt shrugs, shoveling another forkful into his mouth before talking about it. “Waste not, want not when Nasir is cooking.”

“Can you please not talk so loud?” Lugo grumbles, rubbing his head back and forth on his curled knuckles. “My fucking head is going to split open.”

“Your hangover is not my problem.” Gannicus laughs against his shoulder, nudging him roughly. “You’ve got to learn to drink, my friend.”

“I can drink just fine.” Lugo snarls, shoving his elbow back into Gannicus’ ribs. “Get off me!”

“You drink but you don’t know your limit!” Gannicus explains, his voice carrying through the downstairs. “There is a space just past shit faced. It’s a wonderful time where everything is nirvana and glowing and you don’t feel anything. You gotta drink to that level. It’s impossible to get a hangover when you’re that drunk.”

“That’s bullshit.” Lugo shakes his head blearily. “No fucking way.”

“No, I’m serious.” Gannicus raises his brow, all faux innocence and knowledge. “I’ve reached it.”

“Great, we’re taking drinking advice from an alcoholic,” Donar mutters into his cup, leaning against the counter near Agron. 

Agron is about to tell them to keep it down. The house may feel large at times but the walls are thin and Agron and Nasir’s bedroom is only above them. It seems the warning would have come too late though as bare feet suddenly appear at the top of the curled stairs, slowly making their way down. With each one, more of Nasir’s bare legs are revealed, higher and higher, until the hem of a t-shirt can be seen. Agron stands immobilized as Nasir finally full drops into view, the Metallica shirt so large it nearly hangs off one shoulder. He’s pulled his hair up, clearly having prepped a bit more than Agron had before coming down. 

“Oh.” Nasir exhales, coming to a stop just inside of the tile. “Hey.”

He sends a pointed look at Agron, brow raised high in question at the three other men crowded into their modest kitchen. It’s the silent warning, the type that makes the hair on the back of Agron’s neck stand up. He may appear all soft and strung out this morning, but there is no doubt in Agron’s mind of how pissed Nasir actually is. He can read the annoyance creasing along his brow as Nasir moves around the edge of the kitchen towards his boyfriend. 

“Good morning, angel,” Gannicus grins wide, raising his fork in a mock salute. “Did we wake you up? I’m so sorry.”

“Yes.” Nasir answers honestly, side stepping the island and instead inching along the cabinets instead. 

“Gannicus,” Agron growls warningly, shooting the man a glare. 

“What? It’s true.” Gannicus shrugs a shoulder as he blows a kiss. “He knows he’s an angel.”

Nasir rolls his eyes as he finally reaches Agron, hand raised up for his cup. Agron beats him too it though, wraps an arm around Nasir’s waist instead and pulls him in, tries to save the morning a little by kissing him sweetly. Nasir allows it, ignoring Lugo’s soft whistle and letting Agron into his mouth, gasping just a little. He tastes like toothpaste, skin slightly damp and smelling sweetly of the cucumber soap in the bathroom as Agron cups his face. 

He can’t resist the temptation. Agron trails his fingers down Nasir’s side, caressing over his ribs before veering back. It’s easy for him to grab a handful of Nasir’s ass, fingertips slipping just under the hem of his t-shirt before Nasir’s hand suddenly clamps down on his wrist. 

“Don’t.” Nasir hisses, eyes widening in warning when Agron doesn’t at once release his hold on the shirt. “Agron, don’t.”

“Fuck.” Agron lets it slip, word escaping involuntarily and hot. “ _Nasir_.”

It all makes sense the moment Agron’s knuckles brush against bare skin, instantly releasing the fabric and smoothing it back into place. He’s not sure if anyone noticed, but now all Agron can focus on is that Nasir isn’t wearing anything else. Standing there like a vision in one of Agron’s oversized t-shirts, smirking a little as he tugs Agron’s coffee out of his hand. 

Groaning loudly, Lugo rubs a hand over his face, craning it up with a slow grin at the couple. “How much do I have to bribe you to cook me breakfast? Please, schatzi.”

Peering at the man over the rim of his coffee, Nasir seems to contemplate before lowering his mug. “You sneak into my house at seven in the morning and then ask me to cook you breakfast?”

“Just some potatoes and those cheesy eggs you make,” Lugo flashes a wide smile. “And, maybe a side of toast. And bacon. If you have it.”

“Oh!” Nasir laughs, tossing his head back. “Just a small breakfast then? A little thing?”

“I will pay you. What do you want?” Lugo tries to reach for Nasir, hands stretched out imploringly. “Money? I’ve got it. Drugs? I can buy it. Sex? I can try it.”

“You fuck,” Agron leans over the kitchen island, smacking Lugo solidly on the back of the head. “Watch your mouth!”

“Fuck you!” Lugo cries, holding the back of his skull. “Nasir, you know I love you. I’m sorry.” He reaches out as if he wants to take Nasir’s hand. “I’m just so hung over”

“Spartacus would appreciate a breakfast, I bet.” Gannicus supplies, scrapping his fork along his plate to collect the sauce. “We know you want to please Dad.”

“Spartacus is coming over?” Nasir’s head whips up to stare at Agron, gaze widening in horror. “When? Now?”

“He texted last night.” Agron waves a hand as Donar pours him another cup of coffee. “I must have missed it. He probably wants to talk about last night.”

“Duro and Auctus should be here soon too.” Donar adds on. “Around eight.”

“Mmkay.” Nasir hums, going back to his drink. There is a flush beginning to spread over his cheeks, down onto his neck. Gannicus gives him a knowing look as he walks past, depositing his plate into the sink. Nasir has to fight the urge to pull on the hem on his shirt, very aware of what they both must look like right now. It’s obvious that neither were expecting company, half awake and leaning close to one another.

“Agron, can I talk to you for a minute?” Nasir asks sweetly, pushing his cup onto the counter and heading towards the hallway leading to the dining room. It’s some form of privacy, though limited. 

“Oh shit.”

“Someone is in trouble.”

The others hiss as Agron follows, hooking his hands into the pockets of his sweats. The hallway is barely a few feet apart, so he ends up leaning against the wall across from Nasir, who paces back in forth in a tight line. There are pictures of them on the walls, small black frames with photos of them laughing, smiling, running around with the others, domestic and happy.

“Ags, I get that this is our house and they’re part of our family.” Nasir begins, voice barely above a whisper but raising. “And of course, they are always welcome. But what the fuck? _What the fuck?_ ”

“I didn’t know they were coming over!” Agron raises his hands in defense. “I didn’t check my phone. You know I didn’t check it. I literally came down and they were already inside.”

“Okay, but you clearly saw that Gannicus and them were over when you got down here.” Nasir hisses, leaning closer to Agron. “You didn’t think to call up the stairs? Tell me, hey, maybe put on some fucking underwear? Instead of letting me come down half naked?”

“Baby, I didn’t know.” Agron tries to sooth, hands reaching out for him. “I’m sorry. Trust me, I’m really sorry.” He lets his gaze hang heavy over Nasir’s bare legs, the hem of the shirt hiked up a little on one side as Nasir presses a hand to his hip.

“This is not a clubhouse!” Nasir’s voice raises, pointing a finger into Agron’s chest. “We’re not in high school anymore! This isn’t the party house to come hang at. Who the fuck do they think is paying the mortgage?”

“I know. I agree.” Agron manages to hook an arm around Nasir, pulling him closer. “This isn’t exactly how I wanted our morning to go either.”

“Is it too much to ask to get up, have a little coffee, possibly get bent over the kitchen island and eaten out for half an hour by my boyfriend, and then get ready for work?” Nasir rants, lets Agron pet over his back for a moment. “And now, instead, I have to go prepare for fucking Spartacus and half our gang!”

“You don’t have to feed them.” Agron shakes his head. “They’re coming over here. They should be bringing us food.”

“I’m not a fucking housewife, Agron.” Nasir snarls. “I could have gone to MIT. I could have fucking gone to Stanford. I was a fucking shoe-in for any engineering program in the country! Every piece of protective technology the fucking Rebels use I designed!”

“I know babe. I know.” Agron agrees, pressing a kiss to Nasir’s temple. “You’re very smart and very hot and I’m very lucky to be with you.”

“I should be rolling in thousands of dollars.” Tilting his head back, Nasir groans. “I could have been something, really something, instead of walking down to my kitchen to see three grown ass men fighting over who is going to cook an egg.”

“I will take you upstairs right now,” Agron offers seriously, cupping his hand down over Nasir’s ass. “Do whatever you want. Eat you out for so long you’ll be hobbling around the shop this afternoon.”

“That’s not the point.” Nasir pulls back, pursing his lips, unimpressed. “You know what, never mind. I’m going to fucking shower.”

“Nasir,” Agron tries to get a grip on him, hold onto his wrist, but Nasir is quick to yank away. “Come on! I was teasing! Everyone knows you’re the smartest person they know!”

“Tell your fucking friends that before they start begging me for breakfast.” Nasir snarls as he stomps across the kitchen, barely sparing a glance for the others as he swipes his cup off the counter. “And Gannicus, you better fucking wash that plate. I’m not the maid here either.” 

His footsteps can be heard all the way up the stairs, thudding loudly followed by the slamming of a bedroom door. Agron is hanging his head when he gets back into the kitchen, rubbing at his eye again. The rest of the men have at least the foresight to suddenly look very interested in an inanimate object around them. 

“I don’t know if it helps,” Gannicus offers sheepishly, lifting up his shoulders. “But we can still make his morning better? I mean, he has coffee and we could spread him out on the island buffet style. I’m always up for a little ass eating and I’m sure Lugo could learn. And yeah, Donar? You in?”

Slowly, Agron turns until he’s fully facing the kitchen island, gaze murderous as he finally lands on the talking man. He’s curled his hands into fists at his side, grip tight enough his knuckles are already white, bicep trembling.

“You’re in my house.” Agron grits through his teeth. “So, I’m going to give you a three second head start.”

“Come on man!” Gannicus inches off his stool, arms raised with an awkward chuckle, “I was just trying to help!”

“Three.”

Agron lunges around the island, arms reaching and gripping into Gannicus’ shirt. Lugo does nothing but watch as they scuffle, laughing loudly at Gannicus’ indignant shouts, half slurred as Agron rails his fist into Gannicus’ back. It isn’t until Donar steps between them, forces them back, that they finally stop shouting at each other. 

“Stop!” Donar bellows, a hand placed firmly on both men’s chests. “We’re not going to fucking start brawling at seven thirty in the morning!”

“You ever say that to me again and I’ll rip your tongue out of your mouth,” Agron snarls, teeth clenched tight. 

“Okay, okay!” Gannicus holds his hands up, face no longer stretched in that grin. “I’m sorry, alright? I was joking!”

“Agron,” Donar soothes, stepping between the men again until he can block them from each other. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get dressed? Yeah? Spartacus should be here soon and you know we’ll have to head out.”

Agron doesn’t say anything, just shoves away from Donar’s soft hands, stomping around the kitchen to get to the stairs. The pleasant burn in his back has morphed into a blaze within his chest, anger and wrath becoming well acquainted once again. Agron doesn’t even bother trying to quench it, lets it fester and blame himself for it. Things are so rarely not his fault. 

There was a time, not so long ago, that Agron thought he would have a life outside of the Southend. That being the second in command of a gang would be a thing of the past. That Agron would go get a real job, make good money, afford a house that Nasir could be proud of. Could lock the doors and know that he was safe. Somewhere that guns didn’t have to be kept on the bedside table, that violence and crime were things on the news, not commonalities in their daily life. 

Standing in the bathroom doorway, Agron stares at the blurry image Nasir makes through the shower curtain. He doesn’t know why Nasir stays with him sometimes. Nasir, who is all brilliance and bright light. Who deserves better than the slums and punishment of poverty. Who chose to love Agron back when he was seventeen and hasn’t stopped since, even when it feels like he’s kept him back from everything Nasir wanted to be.

Agron leaves him to shower alone. Doesn’t feel like sullying him anymore than he already has. 

\- - - 

“I have coffee!” Nasir bellows, using his elbow to shove open the shop door, the bell chiming merrily above him. 

It’s still dark in the front, blinds shuttered so the bright sunshine can’t bounce across the polished linoleum. They might be a car shop on the Southend, but Oenomaus runs a clean ship. Even the custom rims hung on the wall gleam, the glass case countertop stream free. Nasir pushes the cup carrier up on it, deposits his keys back in his backpack, and pulls out his phone. It’s been buzzing since he got in the car, Agron’s name followed by a heart emoji and eggplant flashing on the screen.

**Agron:** _I’m sorry about this morning. I’m not making plans with anyone tonight but you. Date night?_

Nasir sighs deeply, flicking at the bottom of his screen to reply. 

_Sure, but are your boys going to get the memo? We’re not a hotel._

It takes only half a second for Agron’s reply to come through. 

_Just us. I promise. Let me make it up to you?_

“Oh, thank god,” Saxa’s voice calls from the back of the shop as she ducks out of the office, hands working on pulling up her hair. “You brought sustenance. Have I told you yet that I love you? I literally feel like death and oh no.” 

She stops abruptly, blue eyes trailing up over Nasir from his feet to his downturned face. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?” Nasir drags his gaze up from his phone. “Nothing happened.”

“No,” Saxa says slowly, dragging herself up to sit on the counter, freeing her coffee. “You’re wearing your _fuck me_ outfit. Out of the house. In the general public. Which means Agron royally fucked up.”

“Wh-What?” Nasir glances down at himself, shaking his head. “This is not- I was just- It’s hot outside!”

“Did he see you before you left?” Saxa raises a knowing eyebrow, crossing her legs. 

“Yes, but-“ Nasir begins, cut off as Pietros shoves the door open. He’s holding a bag from Krispy Kreme, a breakfast sandwich half out of his mouth. 

“Good morning.” He garbles, then pauses, eyeing Nasir through half slit eyes. “Or not?”

“What?” Nasir gaffs, throwing his hands up.

“Fuck me outfit?” Pietros meets Saxa’s knowing expression. “What did he do?”

“I’m not wearing a fuck me outfit.” Nasir shakes his head. “It’s summer. And we work outside!”

He’s not lying. It’s nearly eighty degrees outside already, the last dregs of summer hanging on at all costs. The uniform at Oenomaus’ shop has always been branded coveralls, but in the summer he’s a little more lenient. Nasir had pulled on a pair of cut off shorts this morning, the hem framed and arching high. His tank top had been pulled out of Agron’s side, the sides loose and open, collar stretched wide. His boots were just part of his normal attire. 

“Let me see,” Saxa drawls against the rim of her cup. “Short shorts. His shirt. You know you have at least four hickies visible right now, right? Not to mention the fact that you’re were just staring at your phone like you wanted to throw it across the room. So, want to tell me what my idiot of a cousin did again?”

“Unless it’s really bad and we need to go stab him,” Pietros munches on his sandwich, licking at the spot of cheese on his thumb. “Barca has been teaching me.”

“I-“ Nasir scoffs, shaking his head. But what’s the point in not giving in? They’ve read him like a book. “It’s not that he did anything.”

“Oh, this should be good.” Naevia suddenly appears from the back, working a branded tank top over her head. 

Nasir kicks his boot into the tile, just enough for it to scuff the floor, before he takes a deep breath and lets it out. 

“It’s not anything that he did, per say. He went out last night to do some shit for Spartacus. I went to bed early. I knew I had to work today. So, it was no big deal. He came home, we did…” Nasir glances at Pietros’ innocent face. “ _Adult things_ and I thought it was no big deal. Domestic bliss or some shit, ya know?”

“Uh huh,” Naevia digs into the bag of donuts, pulling out an apple fritter and handing it to Nasir. 

“Okay so he beat someone up and then came home to get beat off,” Saxa nods along. “We’ve all been there.”

“Saxa.” Pietros grimaces at her. “At least call it making love, come on. They’re basically married.”

“Anyway,” Nasir interrupts. “It would have been fine except for the fact that I woke up to Gannicus, Lugo, _and_ Donar all in my kitchen at seven a.m.”

“Oh god.” Naevia sympathizes, shaking her head. “Why?”

“Apparently Spartacus wanted a debrief from Agron this morning,” Nasir shrugs, picking at his food. “But he texted last night and we were a little…preoccupied.”

“That doesn’t explain why all of them had to be there,” Pietros sighs. “You know how many times I wake up or walk into the house to find Auctus or Duro or even fucking Rhaskos hanging out in my apartment?”

“Well, we all know why Donar was there,” Saxa sends a wink at Nasir. 

“He already knows I’ll murder him.” Nasir lowers his brow into a glare. “You should have seen him this morning. Basically frothing at the mouth.”

“Donar is fucking hopeless. He’s been hopeless since Agron hit that growth spurt in eight grade.” Naevia rolls her eyes. “As for the rest of them, did you try and kick them out?”

“No. Because they had a reason to be there.” Nasir sighs, leaning back on the counter. “I’m just tired of it, ya know? It’s hard to get Agron’s attention sometimes when someone always needs it. Like, I can’t even be alone with my boyfriend in my own house. I know he’s trying. And sometimes it feels like everything is going to be fine and he’s present, but then his phone will go off and I have to take a back burner because it’s _gang related_.”

They eat in silence for a moment, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Being a part of the Rebels has its perks. There is protection, money, needs met. But there is also the downfall of them all being in each other’s pockets. Someone is always somewhere – bouncing from house to house – and with Agron being basically second in command, their house is often used as a hub. 

“Well, schatzi, you’ve got to just make him work for it then. Agron is a big boy. He should have to put up some effort,” Saxa hops down from her perch, coming to stand before Nasir with hands on her hips. “Don’t give it up so easy.”

“What do you mean?” Pietros half laughs. “Like not put out?”

“Sure, that’s part of it.” Saxa continues. “You’re already halfway there. Nasir, you’re hot. You should flaunt it more. Stop letting Agron horde you.”

“I’m not trying to get someone murdered.” Nasir rolls his eyes. “You remember at the last barbeque with Segovax?”

“I remember Agron threatening to castrate him,” Pietros supplies helpfully, “because he hit on you.”

“He’s a new recruit.” Naevia purses her lips. “It wasn’t like he was just supposed to know.”

“You don’t have to do anything explicit, Nasir. Just show off a little,” Saxa brushes Nasir’s hair off his shoulder. “You’re a damn catch. Let people know. Wear something that makes you feel sexy. Something low and tight and see through. Let people look at you. Hell, let’s go out and dance. You know I’m always up for a party.”

“You do realize he doesn’t actually want to cheat on Agron, right?” Naevia interjects, pointing between them, “Right?”

“Of course not.” Nasir couldn’t even think of it. “I love my boyfriend.” 

“Then, you gotta make him see it from your perspective.” Saxa continues. “Get him riled up. Get him going. And when he’s right about to do you into the mattress, tell him no and push him away. Tell him you’re worried Spartacus might need him and you shouldn’t. Or tell him you’re worried someone might come over.”

“And when he says that everyone else is busy and it’s okay?” Pietros seems to be taking notes for himself. 

“Just tell him you don’t want to risk it, since so many times before it’s happened.” Saxa replies, shrugging a shoulder. "And then, when they do come over, because we all know that someone is always on their way over, tease him with it. Wear his clothes. Give him bedroom eyes. Show some skin. You have to figure out what gets him going and then exploit it.”

“And this is going to help,” Naevia shakes her head, “playing games?”

“Sure it is. You want privacy. You want your man all to yourself. You want domestic bliss,” Saxa leans into Nasir’s side. “So, you have to figure out a way to get him to see it from your perspective. He’s busy trying to talk to Spartacus, just bring him a beer and feel him up a bit. Rub a hand over his chest or down his neck. Lean into whisper and ask him a question. Make it impossible for him to pay attention to anything but you. You know Agron worships the ground you walk on.”

“I doubt that,” Nasir rolls his eyes, taking a bite of his donut. 

“He kind of does,” Pietros slurps on his cup. “I mean, I watched the man nearly put a gun to someone’s head because they checked out your ass.”

“He needs to cherish you the way you deserve.” Saxa explains further, grinning. “You’re the best ride or die boy he’s ever going to get. He knows that. You guys have been together forever. Now he needs to be reminded that you’re in this relationship for a partnership, not to be the wifey at home to clean the house and patch him and the boys up.”

“I guess you have a point.” Nasir sighs heavily, leaning into her touch. “I know he gets tired of it too. Even if he doesn’t know how to say that.”

“You know,” Naevia leans over to grip Nasir’s hand, “you could always tell him how you’re feeling. It’s okay to use your words, you know that right?”

“I know.” Nasir nods. “And I do. But I think sometimes it just cuts him down, ya know? Agron thinks I gave up this grand future to stay with him. Like I sacrificed everything and that he doesn’t think he measures up. When actuality, I stayed because I wanted to. I joined Spartacus because I wanted to. Agron was just a bonus.”

“Maybe he needs to hear that.” Pietros agrees softly, looking up from his drink. “He seems like the silent and suffer type.”

“Who, Agron? Mr. I’m Going To Stand Here and Glare At You Until You Drop Dead?” Saxa lets out a short laugh. “No way!”

“Stop,” Nasir swats at her, laughing. “I love that face.”

“You love more than that face.” Saxa sighs, wrapping an arm around Nasir’s neck, smacking a kiss to the top of his head. 

“I do.” Nasir sighs dreamily, tilting back against her bicep. “I love that face. I love that heart. I love that cock.”

“Alright!” Oenomaus suddenly looms in the doorway of the office, his hands clapped together loudly. “Enough of this episode of Maury. Saxa, you’re on the coop. Naevia, there is an oil change needed for the Honda. Nasir, Spartacus’ new jeep is all on you. Pietros, let’s open this place! We’re already twenty minutes behind schedule! I’m not paying you for the heart to hearts.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Saxa salutes, grabbing her cup up from the counter. 

“On it!” Naevia and Nasir chorus together, both heading towards the door to the shop, Nasir tugging his coveralls from his backpack. 

He’s half hidden behind Spartacus’ jeep when he pulls out his phone, swiping over his lock code. The background is a picture of Agron, sprawled on his back in the grass, the sunshine glinting over his shoulder and onto his cheek. Nasir had taken it, straddled across his lap in their backyard on one of those lazy days that seem so fleeting now. He lets his thumb trace over the cut of Agron’s jaw before sliding down to click on his still blinking message. 

_I get off at 7. See you at home?_

He barely has time to click his screen off before it’s lighting up, as if Agron had been waiting the whole time for the response. 

_See you then babe. Love you. Have a good day_


	2. Chapter 2

“Hit him again.” Spartacus motions his hand, leaning heavily back on the table. 

The dim lights of the warehouse cast shadows along the walls, bleak and uninspiring. It’s cliché but effective, using an abandoned space to pry information out of someone. Agron can appreciate the aesthetic of it all – the pool of blood dripping onto the asphalt, the triangle of sweat on the back of Lugo’s shirt, the smell of the gas station coffee clasped in his hand. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know!” The man slumps forward, weight tugging on his handcuffed arms. “I told you, man, they never tell me anything.”

Lugo’s fist connects solidly to the man’s jaw, his head thrown back in a garble of blood. It leaks from his mouth, stains down the front of his shirt and onto his lap. Agron slides his gaze from the gruesome display to Spartacus and then over to Crixus, raising a brow. There are many other ways they could be getting information out of one of Caesar’s men, but Agron isn’t sure Spartacus will escalate it that far. To be safe though, Agron slips his hand into his pocket, lets his fingers brush against the spiked brass knuckles there. 

“You see my friend there,” Lugo leans heavily into the man, hand hooked on his shoulder. Frantic eyes slide over Lugo and then behind, the man resting balefully on Agron. “When I grow tired, who the fuck do you think is going to take my place? And after that? And after that?”

“Please.” The man groans, shaking his head, his hair stringy with sweat. “Please, I don’t know anything.”

“Something tells me you do,” Spartacus drawls, shrugging his shoulders a little. “In fact, I think you know a lot. So, you can either tell me or I can have our friend here beat you until you remember.”

“Caesar doesn’t tell me anything.” Blood dripping from a split eyebrow, he blinks slowly. “Who the fuck am I? I’m nothing. I’m a fucking runner. That’s it.”

“Keep thinking.” Spartacus tsks, waving his hand again.

The sound of Lugo’s fist ricochets across the warehouse, slapping over and over. It’s almost methodical, rhythmic, a steady beat that repeats and fills the room. Agron takes a slow swallow from his cup, grimacing as the acidic coffee slides over his tongue. It’s hot but that’s as far as it goes for positive notes. They’ve been at this for half an hour already, snatched the guy off the boulevard, strong armed him into Donar’s van. Agron is already tired of it, not willing to sit around and wait for another Roman shit to confess. 

“Spartacus,” Agron murmurs, leaning over to murmur at the man. “Come on.”

“Wait,” Spartacus holds up his finger. 

It’s only half a breath later that the guy moans miserably, blood and saliva dribbling onto the cement. Lugo leans back from him, wipes his hand on a towel tucked into his belt. The terrycloth is smeared brown, crusty now. It does little to clean the carnage from Lugo’s knuckles, huge swollen things half cracked and heavy with silver rings. They’re killer hands, the type to take and squeeze and wait until the life crackles out between ruined lungs. 

“Okay, okay.” The man does not raise his head again, nose nearly touching his knees. “I’ll tell you. Just stop.”

Spartacus doesn’t move from the table, but he does cock his head to the side, waiting. With Spartacus, it is always about patience, about the breath before the attack, the precision of holding and waiting until just the right moment to finally rain fire. Agron, who is all impulse and rage, is only harnessed in when Spartacus chooses to collar him. He heels for Spartacus and Spartacus alone. 

“Crassus is buying his son a new club, up on the East Side. A big joint.” He stops to cough, a horrible hacking sound that rattles foreboding. “Lots of space to operate in.”

“The East Side isn’t Roman territory. It’s Pirate.” Crixus scoffs loudly. “Why the fuck would they buy up land there?”

“You think Romans give a shit what isn’t theirs?” Slowly, as if it takes all of his strength, the main tilts his head up. “The same as you. Eagles. Snakes. It’s all the same bullshit.”

Agron makes half a step forward before Spartacus’ hand gently connects with his chest, not holding but barely pressing the back against his shirt. Fury burns through him at being compared to those low-level shits, half eager to go finish Lugo’s job, but he won’t act without Spartacus’ permission. Instead, Agron turns slowly to look at him, mouth in a thin line. 

“A club? That’s it?” Crixus continues, taking half a step forward. The man glances between the men, gaze quick and fearful. 

“It’s just a way to keep Tiberius occupied while his father runs his operation from the back room.” The man gurgles on his blood, a half-chortled laugh. ”Lots of people going in, not as many going out. They’re expecting a shipment within the next week, but no one knows the details.”

“Shipment?” Agron barely gets through his own teeth, clenched tight enough his jaw aches. 

“People are just as easy to barter and sell than drugs.” The man grimaces, shifting on the metal chair. “You just have to set the right price.”

It’s no secret that the Romans are into the buying and selling of people – some local and some shipped in. It’s one of their many goods and services the Romans solicit, building their gang empire on the backs of debt. If someone owes you something, they are at your mercy. If you own them, there is little they can do to fight back.

“It’s not all just sex, you know.” The man expands, blood smeared on his teeth. “Someone has to clean the houses. Sell the drugs. Run the errands.” 

The comment falls on silence, the warehouse stretched out on either side in shadows. There is no disillusion of what he’s implying. Still, it is hard to swallow. It’s the bleak truth of how things are running in Capua. Either you’re poor and barely scraping buy or you’re being sold to the highest bidder. 

“Lugo, Donar,” Spartacus motions with his hand again, dismissive. “See our new friend back.”

“Wh-What?” The guy looks up, eyes widening. 

“Did you expect us to kill you?” Spartacus asks, raising from his perch on the table. “Is that what those Roman shits would do? Kill one of their slaves?”

Sputtering, the man leans far back in his chair. “Yes, they would.”

“Good thing we’re not all the same then, hm?” Spartacus raises a knowing eyebrow. 

With a wave of his hand, Spartacus turns and heads towards the back of the warehouse, heavy boots clipping on the cement. Agron and Crixus are quick to follow, flanking him on either side, falling into their normal formation. It's a mantle that they both have worked for, have done everything they can to prove themselves and gain Spartacus' trust.

The sun is blinding when they slip through the heavy door, the chains squealing. They’re on the outskirts of Capua, forgotten buildings that loom dark and forlorn, windows half broken through. The pavement outside scorched and cracked with weeds. The chain link fence across from them sags in the heat, useless in keeping anyone out.

“Fuck,” Crixus exhales slowly, latching his hands behind his neck. “ _Fuck_.”

“It doesn’t make any sense.” Agron turns towards Spartacus, brow furrowed. “Why move into Pirate territory? Romans have a huge market full of businesses they use as fronts. Another one wouldn’t cause any suspicion.”

“You’re right. They do,” Spartacus nods, carefully removing his phone from his pocket. “But if they’re building it along the East Side, they have more access to the port.”

“You think they’ll be shipping people in and out?” Crixus asks, then as if answering his own questions. “It’s an easy guise, sure, but the Pirates aren’t going to just allow them to do it.”

“Not without payment.” Spartacus agrees, tapping at his screen. “Or force.”

“So, what’s the plan? I know someone who could blow it up, never let the doors open.” Agron grimaces. “Fire’s the same way. But arson is easier to trace and prove. Plus, either way, someone is going to have to go down for this. Romans have too much control over the police.”

Seemingly satisfied with whatever he was texting, Spartacus slips his phone back and levels the men with a careful look. It’s the look that he gets when he’s planning, scheming, developing something that will either be crazy or successful or both. 

“I don’t want to do anything just yet. Nothing rash. Crassus is making a big deal about the club being a gift to his son. While Tiberius might have the last name, we all know who Crassus’ real heir is.” 

“You think there is a reason?” Crixus asks, raising a brow. “A distraction for something else?”

“Exactly.” Spartacus agrees. “But until we know for what, we have to be careful. I want everyone with ears to the ground, be on guard. Report back anything suspicious.”

Both men agree, tapping their fist to the shoulder in a mock salute. Spartacus returns the gesture, nodding his head in dismissal. 

\- - - 

The Wooden Nickle sits on the corner of a slowly decaying block. The concrete out front is chipped and cracked, weeds poking up between the slabs. An Italian bakery with antique subway glass sits across the street, then a Polish restaurant, a laundry mat near the other end of the block owned explicitly by a Russian family.

It's the type of neighbor that has earned its nickname - Immigrant Alley. Agron hadn't known that was what it was going to grow into when he purchased the bar, but it seems fitting if the small German flags hanging in his windows is anything to go by. There is half a dozen of them, faded and strung up in the long wall of glass looking out into the sad little street. The inside is all dark wood, large backed booths with polished tables, small candles burning low next to the bottles of mustard and sugar packets. 

The bar itself is oak, wrapped the full length of the right side, a large, speckled mirror hung high with large bottles of liquor on thin shelves. There stools here are green topped, plush with gold fixtures. If Agron is behind the bar, there is a stool on the far side, next to the till, that the regulars know stays vacant unless Nasir is sitting there. 

This is not the type of place that one would call glamorous. It's more dive bar than anything else, but the kitchen is good, and the beer prices are even better. And sometimes, on Friday nights when the television is turned to football and people are dancing around the pool tables, it feels almost lively. It's the type of place that was once an American dream. 

Agron is half listening, half ignoring the news on in the corner, drying a rack of beer steins. He's waiting to see if the assault makes the early news, though he doubts that Caesar would be dumb enough to report his men being jumped. Though the Romans control most of the police force, they’re usually hesitant to include them in gang handlings. 

The sun blinking through the windows hints that it may just be after noon, dragging hazy and warm outside. The bar is mostly deserted, a drunk slumped at the end, a group of men enjoying an early lunch in the far booth, Totus taking care of their table. 

"Hey, you piece of shit!" 

Saxa makes a vision, pushing open the heavy wooden door, coveralls half undone and tied around her waist. Her blond hair is a mess of sweaty curls on top of her head, a smear of grease half across her cheek and into her ear. It's a wonder she made it down the block without being catcalled, though Saxa is always quick with a switchblade when that happens. 

"Oh look," Agron drawls, rolling his eyes, "my least favorite cousin."

"I'm your only cousin." Saxa purses her lips, stomping across the bar and pushing herself up on a stool. 

"And yet, you are still my least favorite." Agron puts the glass he was drying down onto the shelf, turning to her. “Why are you here?”

“A girls gotta eat.” Saxa shrugs, reaching over the bar to pull a Paulaner from the cooler. “No better place in the neighborhood.”

“You drinking on the job?” Agron asks, watching as Saxa struggles to twist the top off. 

“No. I just told you,” Saxa finally relents, clacking the bottle hard onto the wood top. “I was sent out for sustenance. Trust me, you don’t want a hangry mechanic working on your car.”

“You’re here for lunch?” Agron swipes the beer from her, using the bottle opener on his keyring to open it and hand it back. He lets his gaze swing past her to the door, brow furrowed as it stays shut. It’s not a big deal. It’s expected with how this morning went. 

“Don’t give me that look.” Saxa rolls her eyes, taking a heavy swig of her bottle. “I’m just here to pick it up. Oenomaus sent me out and told me to come straight back. The shop is packed today. And no one can change a carburetor as fast as me. No one.”

“Oh.” Agron nods, turning away to grab the ordering pad. “What do you want?”

Saxa sighs loudly, chugging half the beer before the bottle clicks to the wood again. She knows that look. She’s known that look since Agron was fifteen and met Nasir. She’s known that look since Agron turned seventeen and finally asked him out. She’s seen it at every Sunday dinner since. 

“Naevia is stuck doing back to back oil changes.” She offers, feeling at least a little charitable. It’s almost sad to see Agron wallow. “And your little love bug is about waist deep in Spartacus’ jeep right now. You know he’s not going to stop until he figures out all the complicated shit. But…he did specially request I come here to pick up food.”

Agron levels her with a look over the paper, pen tapping a small dot over and over. He wants to act like it doesn’t matter, like it’s just another piece of information. But there is something about things in consideration of Nasir. It makes Agron soft, makes him full of warmth and light, cracks past all the brutality and rage. It’s flickering candle in a storm. 

“You’re hopeless,” Saxa rolls her eyes, tugging her phone out of her pocket. “Just give me four jaegerschnitzels, extra fries on mine.”

“That it?” Agron asks, writing it down. 

“And,” Saxa sighs again, put upon, “I was asked, very sweetly might I add with puppy dog eyes, to ask you if you’ve made any bienenstich today?”

“I have.” Agron tries ridiculously hard to keep the grin off his face, twisting his mouth until he’s forced to bite his lip. It gains him another sign from Saxa, annoyed. 

“He only wants some if you made it. He said Nemetes’ tastes like shit.”

“I’ll put it in.” Agron tears the order from the pad and goes to hang it up in the kitchen window. “Nemetes! To go. And give me an extra slice of that bienenstich I made, ja? Wrapped nice.”

“Yours hasn’t been cut yet.” Nemetes hollers back, moving from where he was sat on a bucket in the corner, watching something on his phone. 

“I didn’t ask that.” Agron’s mouth falls into a firm line. “And maybe do some actual work. I’m not paying you to follow the Broncos.”

“You barely pay me at all.” Nemetes mutters to himself, just loud enough for Agron to hear it over the stove fan. 

“You want me to pay you nothing?” Agron asks, leaning into the window more. “Because I have a line of German runts around the corner trying to get work here.”

Nemetes is smart enough not to reply, just waves a hand at Agron and gets to work. He’s not about to be fired for getting attitude with his boss, especially when he knows that Agron is right. This place has been a haven for fresh off the boat immigrants, finding a friendly face and familiar food inside. If anything, Agron is more of a king in this castle than anything else – everyone who works here is loyal to him.

Saxa is munching on some peanuts when Agron gets back to the bar, elbow propped upon the polished wood, another beer open before her. She levels him with a calculating expression before opening her mouth, half the nut still in her mouth, turned into a brown sludge. 

“You bribing your boyfriend now?” She asks, unimpressed. “Word on the street is that you fucked up pretty bad this morning.”

“It wasn’t all my fault.” Agron mutters, going back to drying his glasses. The front door opens again, another group for lunch, laughing as Totus moves them to a table. 

“Yeah, yeah. Gannicus showed up, the asshole, and ruined your sweet little morning tryst. I heard.” Saxa sits up straighter. “Nasir also said that he brought both Lugo and Donar with him.”

“You do realize that you can’t hate Gannicus just because he’s your ex, right?” Agron tries to deflect. “

“Sure I can.” Saxa brushes an invisible hair from her cheek. “He’s a piece of shit. The only reason he’s useful is for what he can sell. Other than that, the man lives in a fucking van.”

“He’s got his own place,” Agron laughs, bemused. “You have to give him credit for that.”

“He lives in a van!” Saxa repeats, emphasizing with her hand. “Which he parks at his best friend’s shop so he can hit on him and his wife. You know he’s been trying to convince Oenomaus to just give into a poly. Melitta doesn’t even stop him now.”

“That’s more info than I needed to hear.” Agron grimaces, shaking his head. “Way more.”

”But that’s not the point.” Saxa runs her fingers along the neck of her bottle. “The point is, are you ever going to pop the question to your little schantzi?”

“Why,” Agron sighs deeply, straightening the coaster holder, “must you always pester me about this?”

“Come on,” Saxa sighs again, this time, propping her head in her hand. “You fucked up this morning. You’ve got to reign in your boys, cousin. You’re letting them walk all over you. What better way to make Nasir feel appreciated and wanted than to pop the question?”

“I’m not proposing to him just to stop being made at me.” Agron sighs deeply, finished with the glasses. ”As for them, I told them they need to respect a locked door. It’s kind of hard though when Spartacus is the one telling them what to do, not me.”

“Did you ever think that Nasir knows that? But maybe, just maybe, he wants some privacy with you?” Saxa raises a slow eyebrow. “Shit is going to happen. People are going to have to group up. But, you and I both know, that it isn’t just about this morning.”

“I know that.” Agron comes to press his hands onto the counter before her, leveling her with a furrowed brow. “Nasir knows what he got into when he joined up with all of us, knows that Spartacus has to come first, the safety of all of us has to come first. I can’t just ignore everything for him.”

“He’s a Rebel through and through, sure.” Saxa doesn’t back down, flippant. “But if you’re not going to recognize he’s more, than is that all he is? He’s just another gang member? Just another one of the guys? Only allowed to be around to serve a purpose?”

“Saxa,” Agron begins warningly, cut off as she reaches for his hand, linking their fingers. 

“You and I both know that’s not it.” She drops her voice, learning close. “You have to make time for yourself, for him. You deserve a life outside of being Spartacus’ guard dog. And Nasir deserves to have all of you when he’s standing right in front of you.”

“Yeah, he deserves it.” Agron hisses, trying to pull away from her but Saxa’s grip is firm. “Or maybe he only thinks he deserves it and really should be doing something more with his life than being the tech genius for a gang.”

“So, what, you’re just going to make that decision for him?” Saxa’s snarls, hackles raised. “How much longer does Nasir have to prove his loyalty to you? His love to you? Maybe it’s about time you stop waiting for him to open the door and never come back, yeah?”

“It’s important for him to know that the door can always be opened,” Agron leans in further, keeping his voice low enough that Saxa needs to crane her head to hear him. “If he can’t leave, if he doesn’t have the option, then I’m not better than a Roman shit.”

“You don’t get to shove him out of it though.” Saxa frowns. “You’re making a choice you have no right to make. Why don’t you ask him why he’s in the Rebels instead of assuming it’s because of you and your cock? Ja?”

Agron scowls are her, pulling away to take the waiting bags from the kitchen window. Nemetes has wrapped everything well, even going so far as to cramming two heavy slices of cake into one plastic container. Agron makes sure no one is looking before he takes a sharpie from his pocket, and there, in the very far corner of the container, he draws a tiny heart. It’s something hidden, a small thing that he doubts anyone will notice but Nasir. 

“Well, as always, your self-inflicted martyrdom has been fun to listen to.” Saxa drawls as she takes the bags from him, slipping a few folded bills under her finished beer. “I need to get back to changing fan belts and listening to Oenomaus complain about my ex-boyfriend trying to turn his marriage into a thruple.”

“Be careful out there,” Agron reaches across the bar, cups the side of her cheek in a gentle pat. “Romans don’t care about territory lines.”

“I’m armed and trained,” Saxa kisses the side of Agron’s palm before slipping from the stool, loading up. “Think about what I said.”

Agron waves her off, rolling his eyes. The thing of it is, he could just ask Nasir. He could find out the information and then deal with it accordingly, but if Agron is being honest with himself, he’s afraid. He’s afraid that Nasir will tell him why he stayed and why he resents him, maybe secretly, for allowing Nasir to throw away his future on a gang. 

\- - - 

There is something comforting about arriving home after a long day of work, of following along the cracked and beaten sidewalk, feeling the familiar gate under your fingertips, to hear it squeal on unoiled hinges. Nasir closes his eyes as he shuts it behind him, lets the warm summer breeze rustle over his face, leaves skirting along the path. There are no sweet smells on the air, no flowers or fruit trees, not here on the Southend, just the stillness of the heavy night. 

Nasir leaves the dark street behind him, shuts the front door with a click and then three more as the locks slide over into place. Unlike the neighborhood outside, the inside of the house smells heavenly of cooked food - garlic and thyme wafting out of the kitchen. Nasir’s barely slipped his feet out of his boots, leaving them in a neat line by the door, when strong hands suddenly slide over him. 

“A welcoming party to meet me at the door?” Nasir laughs, breathless as he’s guided back. “I could get used to this.”

“Welcome home. You smell like an engine,” Agron murmurs, nose tucked just behind Nasir’s ear. “I like it.”

“I do work in a mechanic’s shop.” Nasir grins, tilting his head to the side so that Agron has more room to work. 

“I couldn’t tell.” Agron’s teeth trail slowly down his throat, sucking softly on the skin until Nasir shivers under him. “Good day?”

“Busy day.” Slowly, he turns his head, Nasir steals a kiss instead, grinning against Agron’s mouth. “Are you cooking?”

“I am.” Agron trails his fingers down the front of Nasir’s tank top, slipping under the hem to pet over his stomach. “It has about twenty minutes left. I have wine too.”

“Enough time for me to shower?” Nasir asks, turning so he can wrap his arms around Agron’s waist instead, kissing him again. “I’m covered in grease. And sweat. And grease.”

“Only if you want to.” Agron leans back from then, gaze trailing over the coveralls tied loosely at Nasir’s waist. “I don’t have a problem with it.”

“I do.” Nasir stands up on his toes, pecking Agron’s lips slowly, before pulling away. “I’ll be quick.”

He heads for the stairs, careful not to grab onto the railing and smear dirt onto it. No matter how hard Nasir tries, it’s nearly impossible to get clean before leaving the shop. He’s nearly all the way up before he pauses on the landing, turning back to look down at his boyfriend. Agron is still standing there, unabashedly watching him with a small grin. 

“You know you don’t have to bribe me, right?” Nasir asks, raising a slow eyebrow, “I love you, even if I get upset with you.”

“Maybe I just felt like cooking for my hardworking boyfriend.” Agron raises an eyebrow at him. “Now hurry up or it’ll sit on the table and get cold.”

He disappears around the corner of the staircase, making his way back to the kitchen, and Nasir has no choice but to go down the hall to their bedroom. It’s not that uncommon for Agron to make dinner or bring home food from The Wooden Nickle. Still, Nasir knows it’s probably part of a larger apology that Agron has somehow worked out. He’s not always prone to saying the words, though Nasir knows he tries to be verbal, but Agron is much better expressing himself through his actions. 

Taking a quick shower, just enough to rise the day off, Nasir dresses comfortably. The house has stayed blissfully silent, so he doesn’t really feel the need to put on that much, plus the summer heat is still creeping in through the windows. Feeling a little charitable, Nasir dresses in a pair of soft shorts and a tank top, something loose and cool, but also something Agron can easily work his fingers under. 

He’s surprised when he gets downstairs that the dining room table (what Nasir likes to call their second junk drawer) is actually set and Agron is already perched at one end, hand wrapped loosely around a beer. The food is dished out, the sweet smell of lemons wafting up from a slice of salmon. For it being a fairly long rectangular table, Nasir has always ignored the other end, and instead sits close to Agron’s right side, their knees brushing underneath. 

“There is fish on my plate,” Nasir raises a slow eyebrow, taking the offered glass of wine from Agron’s hand. 

“There is.” Agron doesn’t look up while he says it, busying himself with fiddling with his fork. 

“Expensive fish. Is this King Salmon?” Setting his glass down, Nasir levels Agron with a knowing look. “And good wine.”

“Maybe I felt like spoiling you.” Agron rebuffs, huffing a little. “Maybe I felt like doing something nice and a little extravagant for my boyfriend. Am I supposed to just ignore you?”

“You realize we’re Southend criminals, right?” Nasir tries for teasing, taking a slow sip of his wine. “Not Roman Kingpins?”

“I’m a Southend criminal.” Agron looks up then, reaching out slowly and cupping Nasir’s cheek. “You’re not.”

“I hack into government and private security systems for you and Spartacus all the time. I’ve designed a bugging system that would make the FBI jealous.” Nasir shakes his head, dislodging Agron’s hold on him. “I’m just as much of a criminal as you. And, I’m twice as good with a switchblade.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Agron mutters, dropping his head back to stare at his plate. “I only meant just because we live down here doesn’t mean you can’t have nice things once in a while. If I can give them to you, I’m going to.”

“The only nice thing I want,” Nasir reaches out, slipping his hand over Agron’s knee, “is to be with you, here in our home, and together. That’s all.”

“I want that to.” Agron leans across the corner of the table, pressing a soft kiss to Nasir’s mouth. It’s chaste but lingering, Agron pressing a fleeting one to Nasir’s forehead before he returns back to his side.

They eat in companionable silence for a while, sharing glances. Nasir has things he wants to say, words he thinks Agron should hear, but for what? What is the real root in this problem? It’s hard to understand and even harder when it feels like even after five years of being together, Nasir isn’t now if he really knows what to say to the man in front of him. 

The Southend has always been a place of poverty, of yearning, of thoughts of grandeur while you’re standing in line at the local food bank. Nasir had been a ward of the state when he had entered high school. A runt of a kid, short with large eyes but quick in classes. He had been the only member of the computer club for two years when Spartacus had found him, half hidden in the back of the library with a half-built Linux system spread out in front of him. 

Nasir wonders if he made the right choice then, following Spartacus out to his car, meeting the rest of what would grow into this gang – this family. It’s hard to think about his life ever turning out as anything different. Once he was part of it all, once he felt at home, there really was no other place for him. Nasir hadn’t wanted much else. 

They clear the table together, stacking plates and scrapping out pots. Nasir ends up washing, stealing glances out of the corner of his eye at his boyfriend. Agron makes a point of brushing against him each time he reaches for a dish, arm pressed to Nasir's, leaning into him. There is something oddly intimate about it, about being in their own home, about doing domestic and remedial tasks just so they can be close. 

Agron ends up on the couch, sprawled in the middle and flipping through the channels while Nasir pours himself another glass of wine. There is no point in wasting it. He settles on some horror movie, the scenery dark and foreboding, casting dim shadows over their living room. It takes him back to years before when Nasir and him would sneak into the movie theater on the west side of Southend. They would slip into a middle row, too poor for popcorn or snacks, and instead make out for their entirety of the film - much to the chagrin of those around them. 

"You find something good?" Nasir asks, setting his glass and another beer on the coffee table. 

"Found something other than the news." Agron grins, watching the light flash over Nasir's outline. 

He slips between the arm of the couch and Agron's leg, tossing his own across Agron's lap and leaning into a faded throw pillow with missing tassels. Agron brushes his hand across Nasir's ankle, feels the soft, warm skin there. It's really too warm in the house for them to be this close, sharing space and breath, but there is no way in hell that Agron would ever turn him away. 

"You never told me how work was today," Nasir is all slow smiles over the rim of his glass. "Were you busy?"

"A little rush around lunchtime." Agron continues to trail his fingers over Nasir's calf. "They were starting to pick up when I left. Duro said he could handle it though, and Auctus was stationed as bouncer so. I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Seems very secure," Nasir stretches a little, slipping down until his ass can press firmly against Agron's leg, lounging. "No interesting customers? No middle-aged homemakers come in to marvel at your arms?"

Agron tips his head back with a laugh, fond and bright. "No, thank fuck. I don't think Mrs. Lutz has been allowed back since her husband took a good look at me."

"There is a lot to look at." Nasir murmurs, taking another slow pull from his wine as he leans up. It's dark and has stained his lips a deep red, soft when they press against Agron's in the dark. 

"If I didn't know any better," Agron murmurs, curling his fingers against Nasir's jaw, dragging them to cup the back of his neck, "I'd think you were trying to seduce me."

"Is it working?" Nasir grins, eyes flickering over Agron's face. 

"Yes." Pulling him forward, Agron guides them into another kiss, this one warm and open, tongues slipping between. He leans back abruptly then, watching Nasir's eyelashes flutter open. "But you also have something to say, hm?"

Sighing deeply, Nasir takes his defeat in stride, only leaning back a little to put some space between them. He knows this isn’t going to be a pleasant conversation, especially when Nasir gets it all out, but maybe he can soften it a little if he’s close and soft and against Agron through it all. 

“I know you think I should leave you.” Nasir begins, thumb tracing over the stem of his glass. 

“Nasir,” Agron tries to interrupt, stopped when Nasir shakes his head. 

“You can try and tell me you don’t, but you and I both know you do. It’s why you won’t commit, not all the way. You keep me at a distance, even if you don’t realize you do it.” 

“I only want what is best for you.” Agron’s voice is soft, the flashes on the tv making his eyes seem impossibly bright. 

“You don’t get to make that choice for me.” Nasir glances up at him, mouth in a firm line. “You might be the Köng of the Rhine to all your German friends and Spartacus’ guard dog to everyone else, but you can’t just make demands and expect me to follow suite. We’re not Romans, Agron. I’m not your slave.”

“I have never thought of you like that,” Agron stresses, eyes going a little wide. He has the sudden urge to stand, to flee, to act and be rash, but Nasir’s legs weigh him down. He’s never thrown Nasir off of him. “Never. Is that how I make you feel? Like I think I own you?”

“No.” Abandoning his wine on the table, Nasir reaches up, cups Agron’s cheek. “Not intentionally.”

“Why can’t I just protect you?” Agron’s voice drops to a whisper, leaning into the touch. “What is so wrong with wanting you to escape all this shit? I love you and I want you to be safe.”

“Agron,” Nasir’s thumb traces just under Agron’s eye. “You’re not the reason I’m in Spartacus’ gang.”

Leaning back, Agron’s gaze slowly moves over Nasir’s face, down across where his collarbones stick out from the loose collar of his tank top. He’s not one for words, usually quick to action, but suddenly his mind is blank – rendered still by the honesty in Nasir’s voice. He doesn’t know why the words seem so raw, suddenly finding the root and tugging. 

“I got accepted with a full ride to MIT my junior year. They were recruiting me out, even from our shitty high school.” Nasir continues, fingers moving to take Agron’s hand in his own. “I could have gone and done some pretty amazing shit if I had accepted.”

“Why-“ Agron breathes sharp, blinking quickly. “Nasir, the opportunity-“

“You know, they’re using technology in some really amazing ways. They’re saving lives and changing education and taking people to fucking Mars. But they’re also using it in really bad wars too. For war and destruction and hurting people – especially minorities.”

Nasir raises Agron’s hand to his mouth, kissing his palm. It’s so gentle it feels like he’s barely touched him, holding his lips there for a brief moment. 

“And then you and Crixus jumped those guys for attacking Naevia. And Spartacus asked me if I could steal the tapes so you wouldn’t get caught.” Nasir laughs a little, shaking his head. “I had to use that shitty IBM that he had lifted off a fucking Best Buy truck.”

“We never got caught.” Agron smiles a little, just the curl of his mouth. “Whatever you did worked.”

“And I knew then, like I’ve known every day since,” Nasir looks up at Agron then, holding his gaze steady. “I didn’t want to work for someone and always wonder if I was being a good person, if I was helping more than I was hurting, if I was being used because of what I could do – not for my own worth as a man.”

Agron lets him continue, whatever retort he was thinking of, dying on his tongue. 

“Spartacus is a good man. And what we’re all doing, though a little reckless and illegal, the overall picture is for something good. We’re saving people, even if we have to hurt some people to get there. And I said yes because I believe in Spartacus and what he’s doing.” Nasir leans in then, presses a soft kiss to Agron’s mouth. “I believe in you and what you’re doing.”

“If we hadn’t been dating,” Agron holds his face between large, gentle hands, “you would still have joined?”

“Not everything is about you.” Nasir smiles through it, teasing and bright. “You were just a very welcome bonus.”

“Oh?” Agron laughs then, wraps an arm around Nasir’s waist and pulls him impossibly closer. “I’m just an add on. A little extra for all your hard work?”

“What I’m saying,” Nasir grins, adjusting his grip on Agron’s face, “is I would have joined the Rebels with or without you. But I’m very glad it let me meet you.”

“You were a very hard to resist.” Agron nudges his nose down against Nasir’s, nuzzling against him. “Even at sixteen with those ugly tye dye shirts you insisted on wearing.”

“Asshole.” Nasir grins wide, going to lean away only for Agron to keep him there, stealing his retort with a deep kiss. 

It feels too good to waste it. Agron keeps his grip firm, Nasir’s hair turning into a mess as he plays with it between his fingers. It’s been a long time since they’ve been able to just lounge around, make out reckless and slow on their own couch, behind their own locked door. Agron is tired of the fighting, of the tension, and if he can ease it with a wandering hand under Nasir’s shorts and another in his hair, he’s going to. 

“Are we done fighting?” Nasir gasps, head tilted up and to the side as Agron slides his tongue down his throat, biting into the skin with an agreeing hum. 

He works a series of marks into Nasir’s neck, violet and red that will peak out even from the collar of his coveralls. Nasir has never complained about it before, nails sharp along Agron’s scalp as he grips onto hair. If there is one thing that Agron knows for certain, it’s that he knows Nasir – has memorized his body, the places that make him gasp, make him moan, beg in broken Arabic. Agron can never doubt that he gives Nasir pleasure and knows how. 

“I love you a lot, you know?” Nasir’s words are lost in a moan, eyes rolling when Agron’s fingers slide over his ass, easing under his shorts as anticipated. 

“I love you too.” Pulling back, Agron grins at him, fully with dimples on display. “Always love you.”

Nasir lets him kiss him again, draws him back in with gentle presses before they open up. It’s so easy to fall back into one another, hands wandering slow and exploring. It’s not like there’s a rush. Agron is good at this, finds it easy to pour all of what he wants to say into the movement of his hands, of the press of his mouth against Nasir’s. He can show him how he feels, open up with the brush of their skin against one another’s. 

Wrapping an arm around his waist, Agron tugs until he can pull Nasir into his lap. He can hear something vibrating on the floor, phone forgotten in the midst of Nasir’s nails dragging down his chest. Whatever is on the television flashes bright for a moment and Agron stares up at Nasir’s dark eyes in wonder, mesmerized as he rocks down onto Agron, panting hard. There are too many clothes between them, something that Nasir seems to be thinking to as he grinds down, tugging on Agron’s shirt. 

The fabric is abandoned to the side, Nasir’s fingers going back to Agron’s chest, tracing down his pecks, gripping at his ribs so he can better roll against him. It’s warm in the living room, even with the rotating fan blowing from the corner. He can taste the sweat on Agron’s skin, laps it off his sternum as he leans in, making his way slowly down his body. There are scars scattered, small and thin from knife fights and road rash and an unlucky set of spiked iron knuckles. Nasir knows the stories of all of them, has helped patch half of them up. 

His knees hit the carpet, nuzzling across Agron’s abs as he goes. Agron keeps his fingers twisted in his hair, pulling it up from his face so he can watch. There isn’t enough room for Nasir to do this, not with the coffee table so close, but he’s nothing if not determined. Leaning in, he laps slow over the crease of Agron’s hip, the thick line of his cock dragging along Nasir’s throat. He’ll get to it eventually half dazed with the heat down here, the scent of Agron’s skin. 

Curling his fingers in the waistband of Agron’s shorts, Nasir tugs playfully on the fabric, forcing Agron to slip further down the couch. They’re going to have to work with what they have, cramped and pressed tight as Agron lifts his hips up to help. They’ve barely gotten them down half an inch when the front door is suddenly being thrown open, the wood hitting the wall behind it so hard it reverberates back towards the men trying to get through it. 

Nasir is almost dizzy with how fast he’s up, the handle of the gun, hidden under the couch, pressed firmly into his palm. Agron is half a breath behind him, half standing in front of Nasir, his own fingers wrapped around the knife left on coffee table. He doesn’t seem to mind or notice that his shorts are dangerous low, the dark curls at the base of his cock peaking out above the gray fabric. 

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Gannicus drops his duffle bag, hands up, behind Nemetes crashing into him. “Don’t shoot! We come in peace!”

“What the fuck?” Agron is so mad his voice is shaking, lowering his arm only slightly. “What did I fucking tell you?”

“Spartacus sent us!” Halfway through the door, Nemetes twists his mouth into a snarl. “Romans put a hit out on you.”

“What?” Nasir lowers the gun slowly, glancing up at Agron’s snarling face and then back. “What do you mean?”

“Those guys you beat up?” Gannicus keeps his arms up, glancing between the pair of them, “One of them was Tiberius’ boyfriend. He’s basically demanded someone pay you back for what you did – especially if they bring you to him.”

“Agron!” Nasir hisses, turning abruptly to him. “Did you-“

“Did someone get Duro?” Agron drops the knife to the table again. “He’s at the bar.”

“Auctus took him around the back. Barca was sent over, with Saxa and Totus.” Donar leans in through the doorway, pushing against the other two men. His gaze is slow and calculating over the scene before him, pausing when he takes in the pair’s disheveled state. “He’ll be okay.”

“Get in here then.” Agron snaps, waving a quick hand. 

The look doesn’t go unnoticed by Nasir who bares his teeth at Donar and reaches for his boyfriend in the same breath. He is quick when he adjusts Agron’s shorts, leaning into him to whisper as the four men at the door shuffle inside, quick to lock it behind him. Out of them, only Lugo looks entirely regretful, keeping his face down at the spectacle of them.

“You should go. Let them take you to the safe house.” Nasir murmurs, head tilted to the side so the others can’t see the crease of worry on his face. “You have to go quick though.”

“And what, leave you here?” Agron purses his lips. “No fucking way.”

“I’ll go stay with Naevia and Crixus.” Nasir shrugs. “If they can even find the house, it’s better if it’s empty. What’s the worst they can do? Break a few windows? Steal a few things?”

“Like I’m going to put your safety in that shit’s hands.”

Agron takes the gun from Nasir’s hand, flicking the safety back over and sliding it under the couch. He doesn’t look pleased when he stands back up, turning to address the other men. 

“Spartacus said to do whatever you wanted.” Donar doesn’t bother looking at Nasir, stares at Agron with an odd look on his face. “It’s your choice. We’re here to protect you.”

Drawing in slow breath, Agron runs his hands over his face. It’s hard to switch from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other. What Agron wants doesn’t really seem to matter. What Agron wants is to go back in time to ten minutes ago with Nasir’s dark eyes staring up at him, with the promise of pleasure and sweet press of their mouths. What he wants is to have the freedom to pick his boyfriend up and take him to bed, to take as much time as he fucking pleases. 

“We’re staying here. They’re going to think we’ll run if we know, so it’s best to stay in one spot.”

He can feel Nasir turn away from him, pick up the forgotten beer bottle and half empty wine glass, draining it quickly. He won’t say what he’s really thinking, nervous and anxious about the Romans. Agron is sure he’ll hear about it when they retreat to their room, stuck making arrangements before they can though. 

“Lugo, you can stay on the couch. Nemetes, there are enough blankets to take the floor.” Agron instructs. “Gannicus and Donar, you’re upstairs.”

None of the men think to argue, already beginning to move and check the house. Gannicus is quick to reach for the windows, sliding them down their frames and locking them tight. Lugo heads towards the kitchen after taking the dishes from Nasir’s hands, bowing his head in a small apology. Nemetes heads towards the stairs, muttering something to himself. Only Donar lingers, behind at the waist to pick Agron’s abandoned tank top off the floor. 

“You sure this is the way you want to do it?” He asks, holding the fabric. “We still have time.”

“I’m not leaving my house for those Roman shits.” Agron tugs the shirt away. “And we’re not splitting up. I’m not going to run. If they want to come, let them come.” 

“Agron,” Nasir murmurs, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

“It’ll be fine. We bought the house knowing we were going to have to fortify it. We’re prepared.” Kissing the top of his head, Agron motions with his hand in dismissal, Donar retreating from the pair with a slow glance. Nasir wonders if he tosses the knife, how good his aim would be with his left hand. 

“I’m sorry.” Agron mutters, exhaling sharp. “I told them to leave us alone tonight.”

“It’s okay. They’re here to help protect you.” Nasir turns, leaning into Agron and presses a slow kiss to his frowning mouth. He still feels warm from the wine, from the press of their skin. 

“Gods,” Agron moves his hand up, cups Nasir’s cheek, thumb tracing just below his eye. He’s oblivious to the banging and talking around him, ignoring all of them for the man in front of him. “How are you this beautiful?”

“I’ve got to go get the blankets.” Nasir grins, flushing bright. “And we have guests.”

“I don’t care.” Agron shrugs a little, his fingers trailing down Nasir’s spine. “I really don’t. They know where the linen closet is.”

Nasir lets him kiss him again, lets Agron’s arms wrap around him and pull them flush together. Even as the others move around them, closing pulling weapons out of hiding and rearranging things to better fit a fight if needed, Nasir can’t imagine a safer place than right where he is – feeling Agron’s breath on his face. 

“Let me go help.” Nasir gasps, breathless and yearning. “And then, we can go upstairs.”

“Go.” Agron sighs, put upon, “I’ve got to call Spartacus and Duro anyways.”

They hold onto one another until the very last moment, hands slipping free as Nasir heads towards the hallway and then the stairs. Agron ends up sinking back onto the couch, tugging his phone out from under the coffee table where Nasir must have kicked it when he sank down. He’s missed a few texts, a dozen phone calls from Gannicus probably warning him they were coming over. 

Nasir is nearly to the stairs when he knocks into Donar, coming the opposite direction with a backpack half unzipped in front of him. It’s not enough of an impact to knock either of them over, but Nasir catches himself hard on the wall. 

“Oh, sorry, didn’t see you.” Donar shrugs, unbothered. 

“Well I see you.” Leaning in, Nasir grits his teeth up at him, jaw clenched. “And you better keep your fucking eyes to yourself.”

“I don’t know-“ Donar begins to say, but Nasir is quicker, the curve of his knee pressing lightly between Donar’s legs. 

“You do know. And you’d do well to remember whose house you are in.”

“I get it.” Donar raises his hands in mock defeat. “But you wouldn’t be worried if there wasn’t a reason to be.”

“You think I’m worried?” Nasir scoffs, half a laugh falling form him. “Whose name do you think is tattooed on Agron’s chest? Whose name is on the deed of this house with him?”

“So, you own him now?” Donar groans when Nasir’s leg lifts just a little, pressing tight to his balls. “Charming.”

“Agron is free to do whatever and whomever he chooses.” Nasir blinks innocently up at him. “And he chooses to be here. So, remember your place. You’re nothing and you’re going to remain that way.”

With a flash of a too sharp grin, Nasir suddenly turns away, heading up the stairs. He waits to grin until he reaches the landing, accepting the fist bump from Lugo’s outstretched hand.


	3. Chapter 3

"You're mad." Agron sighs, elbows on the top of the dresser. There is a mirror up here, and in its reflection, Agron see the closed and locked windows over his shoulder. The room is stifling now, a lazy box fan propped up on a fair. Nasir is pulling his hair up as he comes through the door, tilting his head to look at Agron through a stray curl. 

"I'm not."

"I'm mad." Agron mutters then, turning his head back so he can rub over his face. There is a gun on the wood in front of him, the magazine out but lying nearby. The handle is curved, a small gold snake carved into the wood – A.G. just under. 

"You're always mad." Nasir teases, moving to his side. He presses a kiss to Agron's bare shoulder, setting his chin there. He smells like toothpaste, like the soap from the bathroom, face still damp. "They're here to protect you. Just like I am. Why would I be mad about that?"

“You know why.” Agron meets Nasir’s eyes in the mirror, barely peaking over his arm. “We can’t even have one night without someone fucking throwing open the front door. We’re changing the locks tomorrow.”

“No, we’re not, and this is different.” Nasir presses himself along Agron’s back, holds him tight. “It’s not their fault that they’re here.”

“No, it’s mine.” Agron folds his hands, presses them against his mouth. “I can’t even fucking blame him, Tiberius. If someone put their hands on you, I’d hunt them down too.”

“I know you would.” Nasir rests his cheek against Agron’s back. “I’d do the same.” 

Agron doesn't answer, instead rubs his hands over his hair and then down to grip the back of his neck. It's late, nearly one in the morning, but Agron can't seem to settle. He knows the guys have done all they can. Gannicus' bag was full of weapons, stashed in about every room of the house. If the Romans are coming, then that's all there is. He just prays that Barca was smart enough to do the same to Duro's home too. 

" _Komm ins Bett._ " Nasir murmurs, his German a little broken. All he's learned is by word of mouth, but it still makes Agron's chest flutter when he hears it. "Come on."

Nasir presses a kiss to each of his shoulders and then the middle of his spine before he pulls away, hands lingering until the last moment. He knows Agron will follow him, doesn't even look back, just waits for the loud click of the magazine being slid into the gun, of the metal hitting the nightstand instead. There is a matching one on Nasir's side, a knife always under the pillow. Nasir had found the bat in the corner a surprise though. 

Agron stands by the side of the bed, stares down at their red sheets. How is he supposed to just go to sleep now? He should stay up, should watch guard with Lugo or Donar. It’s because of his actions that they’re even here, regardless of Spartacus’ orders – Agron was still the one to carry them out. He hadn’t known at the time who Seppius and Sextus were, though, all the Romans look the same to him. 

Gaze flickering, Agron watches Nasir through his eyelashes, tracks his movements as he rubs lotion into his hands, down over his elbows. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. It was supposed to be a lot more skin and lot less men in the house. Nasir _deserves_ to have a night like that. A night where he can lay out in his own bed and let Agron give him pleasure. 

"You're wearing a lot of clothes." Agron murmurs, gaze slipping from the silk shoulders of Nasir's pajamas, the shirt loose with large buttons and matching shorts. He can see the curl of a bruise on Nasir’s thigh, curved to the front and then onto the side, like a handprint smeared into a mark. 

"We have to keep the door open. Gannicus doesn’t want us closed off. "

“This isn’t Gannicus’ house.” Agron raises a slow brow at Nasir, gaze tracking and slow. 

“It’s not. But I doubt he wants to hear anything.” Nasir looks up, still rubbing his hands together. “Neither does your little love-sick puppy.”

“What are you talking about?” Agron scoffs, surprised at the venom in Nasir’s voice. 

“You know.” Nasir taps the wall above their bed, mouth twisted in disgust. “You think Donar isn’t in there with his ear to the wall and his hand around his dick? Waiting to hear you so he can jack off and pretend he’s in here instead?”

“Let him.” Agron shrugs it off. “He’s not nor will he ever be.”

Nasir's knees hit the mattress, crawling across it to reach his boyfriend. He traces his fingers over Agron's bare chest, down onto his stomach. There is movement outside of their room, someone in the hall going to the bathroom, but it doesn't stop Nasir from laying a kiss across the italic script of his name over Agron's heart. 

"You can be quiet, can't you?" Agron teases, thumb on Nasir's jaw. 

"We're waiting for those Roman shits to come and kill you. We can’t get distracted.” Nasir scoffs, leaning into Agron's palm. He never thought he would be the touch starved type, but every time Agron's hands leave him, Nasir finds himself wanting them back, needing him to be close. 

"If I'm going to die." Agron presses a slow, open kiss to Nasir's mouth. "Then I'd rather do it in bed with you."

"You want to die while fucking me?" Nasir can't help but grin, shaking his head. "Really? Nowhere else?"

"Nope." Agron pops the letter, kissing Nasir again. "It's my favorite place to be."

"Oh my god!" Nasir laughs loud, tossing his head back. He can feel his face getting hot, embarrassed and shocked. "Agron!"

“What? I’m just telling you the truth!” One of Agron’s arms moves, wraps tightly around Nasir’s waist, a hand on his ass. He nearly pulls him from his knees, kisses him slow and open just the way that Nasir likes, makes his legs shake it’s so good. 

"Boss?" Lugo's voice sounds quiet and unsure from the doorway. 

Agron rolls his eyes, growling in frustration. It’s amazing how often they get interrupted in their home. Nasir is all soft lines and a hazy gaze as he pulls back, Agron letting it linger. He keeps his hand on the back of Nasir's neck, unwilling to let him go just yet, turning to look at the interruption. Lugo is at least wise enough to keep his head down, staring very intently at his shoes, has clasped behind his back. Nasir has to bite his lip to stifle the giggle, surprised at how embarrassed Lugo looks. 

"What is it?" Agron asks, sighing as Nasir leans back from him, just enough to let space between. 

"We've got everything locked down. The house is completely secure." Lugo peeks very slowly through his eyelashes, face red, "I'm on first watch. Downstairs."

"Okay." Agron waves a hand dismissively, turning back to Nasir. He wonders if he clasps a hand over his mouth, how quiet Nasir really can be. 

“It’s just…” Lugo speaks again, the floorboard under his foot creaking. “Well…I was just wondering…”

“What is it, lieb?” Nasir asks, pushing against Agron’s hold, just enough to dislodge his tight grip on Nasir’s waist. “Do you need something?”

Lugo shuffles a little, his large shoulders brushing against the doorframe. He won’t lift his head again, highly aware of Agron’s expression, of the glint of his tightly ground teeth. There is provoking and then there is playing with fire, and Lugo would prefer to stay on his good side. Agron is reckless and wrathful when it comes to taking Nasir away from him, even if it’s just attention. 

“It’s nothing. I was just hoping I could make some coffee. We didn’t think to bring any and-“ 

“Oh Lugo!” Nasir’s laugh is bright, sudden and sharp. Of all the things to ask. “Of course! Whatever you need. Do you want me to come down and-“

“No!” Agron and Lugo answer together, Lugo even going so as far to raise his hand. 

“No, schantzi, thank you though.” Lugo bows his head again. “You should rest.”

Nasir moves to argue, mouth opening, but Lugo is already backing out of the room, heading down the hall. He’ll never understand how some of the Rebels treat him. Nasir isn’t some high-ranking member. Sure, he’s dating the right hand of Spartacus, but that doesn’t automatically mean he’s important or anything – not above anyone else. And yet, some people (Lugo, Sedullus, Totus, etc.) act as if he’s some prince hoarding over them. He’s tried to get Agron to see it, to explain it to him, but he had just waved his hand and muttered something in German. 

He’s doing much of the same now as they settle into bed, double checking the gun again and that his phone is plugged in before turning off the bedside lamp. It’s still too hot to slide under the covers, both of them collapsed back into the pillows and on top. The streetlamp outside pours in from the window, illuminating the thin crack in the plaster of the ceiling. Agron traces it from the corner to nearly the light fixture, the line jagged and thin. It’s a metaphor if he’s ever seen one, the great divide, the flaw in an otherwise smooth façade. 

It’s a slow countdown, the house settling around them. The scent of coffee wafts in from the open door, the creak of bedsprings as Donar rolls over, the scent of Nasir’s jasmine lotion. Agron knows he should try and rest, but everything feels hyperactive, a live wire skittering around in the dark. Beside him, Nasir rolls over onto his back, sighing deeply. It helps, counting his slowing breaths, reassuring that he’s still there, still safe. 

It lulls him, the flickering of it in the night, the damp heat pulling him closer and closer to sleep, listening to Nasir’s breath slow down. Agron hadn’t realized how tired he was until he had collapsed back into the familiar mattress. He’s always taken the side by the door, always put himself between anyone entering and Nasir. It’s caused the mattress to dip and form to his body, a little dent curved out for his shoulders and hip. 

Their neighborhood never stays silent for long; someone is always out and out, being loud on the sidewalk. Down the street, a car rumbles loudly as it turns the corner and then backfires, the pop deafening in the still bedroom. Nasir, who had been laying still on his back, suddenly springs forward, his hand wrapping viciously around Agron's wrist. It's hard enough to bruise, nails digging into the soft vein under it as the car speeds down the street and disappears around the corner. 

"Hey, hey, Nasir, hey," Agron soothes, sitting up too. He uses his free hand to turn Nasir's chin towards him, meeting his wide eyes in the dark. "It's okay. It was just a car. It’s not them."

Nasir doesn't answer him, panting hard as he frantically looks over Agron's face. There is a tremble to his bottom lip, unsure and confused at having been pulled so abruptly from slow dozing. Agron keeps his hands soft, his fingers slow, as he caresses over Nasir’s back. It takes him a moment, but eventually the words seem to sink in, Nasir's grip loosening around him. 

"It's okay baby." Agron leans in, presses a kiss to Nasir's sweaty temple. "Come on." 

"Fuck, I'm sorry." Nasir mumbles as Agron pulls him down, tugs Nasir until they're curled close, his head on Agron's chest. “ _Fuck, I hate this neighborhood_.”

"It was loud. You were almost asleep." Agron keeps his arm tight across Nasir's back. "It's okay. We're okay."

Nasir nuzzles closer, hooking a leg slowly over Agron's hips, practically curling up on top of him. There is a security in it, as if he can hold Agron close enough, then maybe no one will get to him. Maybe Nasir can protect him from everything outside of his bed if he tries hard enough. 

It's easy to be soothed by the thought, especially with the gentle fingertips in his hair, brushing the strands back from his temple. It almost feels subconscious, Agron leaning his cheek against Nasir's forehead, leaving a kiss there. 

"Agron?" Quiet, barely above an exhale, Nasir tucks his nose against Agron's jaw. 

"Hm?" Agron knows sleep won't come now, not for a while, especially when he can still feel Nasir trembling. 

"Tell me something nice." Nasir links their fingers together over Agron’s stomach, holds him tight. 

Agron has to think for a minute, considering. He can tell Nasir is looking for reassurance, something to sooth him back into feeling like it’s safe. This isn’t the first time that the Romans have made threats, certainly not the last time, but Agron hates it every time. He’s always going to have a target on his back, emblazed with the serpent on his leather jacket. It doesn’t mean that Nasir deserves to feel it too. 

“Do you remember our first date?” Agron asks, keeps his hands trailing through Nasir’s now loose bun. It works every time to put him to sleep. 

“We went to see the original _House on Haunted Hill._ ” Nasir grins, pressing his smile into Agron’s chest. “I was so nervous. I could barely sit still.”

“You know Duro wanted to come with us?” Agron scoffs lightly. “I couldn’t convince him he wasn’t invited. He insisted that you wouldn’t mind.”

“What? No way.” Nasir giggles, tilting his head up to look at Agron. “How did you get him to stay behind?”

“Spartacus stepped in.” Agron exhales sharp, glancing down. “He took him to do something else. Go get ice cream or something. He knew where I was going so, he thought he’d help me out. I think I still owe him that favor.”

“You told Spartacus you were taking me on a date?” Nasir raises a brow at this. “Really? Why?”

“I had to make sure he hadn’t called dibs.” Agron shrugs, turning his face back up to stare at the crack in the ceiling. “You were so into him then. I didn’t want to like, step in if I wasn’t supposed to. Half the time I thought you hated me.”

“I did. You were a dick back then.” Nasir resettles, presses his nose into Agron’s throat. “What would you have done if he liked me?”

“Pined.” Agron answers instantly, shrugging a shoulder. “Probably gotten drunk with Mira a lot. Tried not to check you out every time I saw you.”

“You do that now.” Nasir grins, thumb tracing over Agron’s knuckle. “It’s okay though. I think you’re pretty hot too.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Pressing a light kiss to the top of Nasir’s head, Agron grins into it. “I was really worried you weren’t attracted to me.”

“Stop.” Nasir giggles again, breathless and light. “And besides, everyone has had a crush on Spartacus. You even had a crush on him.”

“Yeah, he’s a likeable guy. Has the jawline of an Adonis statue.” Agron releases Nasir’s hair, trails his fingers down Nasir’s shoulder, over his back, and then settles his palm over his ass. “Lucky for me though, I got over it and found a way to get you to like me.”

“It wasn’t hard.” Nasir murmurs, patting his chest. “You have dimples.”

“Is that it?” Agron raises a brow at the top of his head, mock insulted. 

“Well, that was before I saw your cock so.” Nasir giggles, pressing a faint kiss to Agron’s throat. “I had to go with something.”

“Wow!” Agron laughs loudly, pulling back to look at Nasir more clearly. “Way to tell me how you really feel.”

“What?” Nasir shrugs, tugging him back until Agron resettles in the pillow. “I’m just being honest. You want to die fucking me. I love your cock. We’re even.”

“I guess!” 

Agron is still chuckling, rearranging them until they’re back to the same position as before, Nasir’s head tucked under his chin. They fall silent, more content to nuzzle and pet over each other than to really say anything else. Agron slips his hand under Nasir’s shorts, caresses over his lower back and then curves his hand over his ass again. It’s become a normal occurrence now, especially with how Nasir always sighs slow and deep when he does it. In return, He lifts that leg, tangles it between Agron’s own, sprawled out against his side. 

“You know, I was so nervous on our date I could barely eat the popcorn.” Agron whispers, knowing Nasir is nearly out. “I was so scared we were going to bump hands and you were going to realize you’d made a mistake. That you should have tried for Spartacus or Barca or hell, even Duro. I just kept thinking if I kept you looking at the movie, then maybe you wouldn’t look at me and realize.”

“Agron, I’m never not looking at you.” Nasir murmurs, voice muffled by Agron’s skin. “And I like what I see, every time, always.”

“Not just for my cock?” Agron tries to rebuff, teasing so it won’t feel so heavy.

“You make me laugh.” Nasir answers, arm tightening around Agron’s chest. “You make me feel safe. You’re the best man I know. Why wouldn’t I be into you?”

“I’m pretty into you too.” Agron digs his fingers back into Nasir’s hair, holding him as close as he possibly can. If there is nothing else, he can do, at least there is this. 

\- - -

The sun is just barely peeking through the blinds when Agron’s phone starts vibrating, the sound obnoxious as it clacks against the side of the gun, rattling the entire nightstand. Still half asleep, Agron blindly slaps his hand around until he finds the offending device, swiping it over towards the bed. He doesn’t bother to look whose calling, dragging his thumb over the call button.

“Yeah?” 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Spartacus’ cheery voice rings through the receiver. He’s always been a morning person. 

"Barely." Agron grumbles, blinking blearily at the ceiling. On top of his chest, Nasir nuzzles into his sternum, breath warm and wet. Somehow in the middle of the night, the buttons on his shirt have slipped out their holes, Nasir's bare chest pressed on top of Agron's, their legs tangled. It's way too hot in the room for this, but Agron doesn't even consider pushing him off, dragging his hand down Nasir's back. "What time is it?"

"Just after six," Spartacus answers, something clicking loudly in the background, an echo in the receiver. "Wake Nasir up and come downstairs. I need to talk to both of you." 

"Are you already in my house?" Agron asks, raising his head a little to glance around the room. It’s mostly clean – a clutter of random stuff on the dresser (a knife, a half empty glass of water, and a tangle of Nasir’s necklaces), a hoodie thrown over the corner of the closet door, and a pile of clean laundry on a chair in the corner. 

Agron is surprised to see Spartacus standing in the hallway though, phone pressed to his ear. It's still dark out there, but he waves a hand in greeting over the top of a coffee mug. 

"If I came in and woke you up, I figured there was about an eighty percent chance one of you would shoot me. This seemed most efficient." Spartacus hangs up the phone and then leans an arm on the doorframe. "So, this is your wake-up call. Again, good morning."

"Fuck." Agron groans, tossing his head back against the pillow. "One of these days, I'm going to get more than four hours of sleep and wake up to an empty house. You've got to allow me that." 

"No one told you to go to bed late." Spartacus shrugs a little, glancing over the pair. He’s known them long enough now that things like this shouldn’t embarrass him, and yet somehow Spartacus feels his neck starting to get hot. Maybe it’s the rumpled crease of Nasir’s shorts, thigh nestled between Agron’s, or maybe it’s the way Agron’s chest flexes when he moves. It feels intimate, almost sacred, and Spartacus is a spectator to that. 

"No, you just sent four guys into my house." Agron grumbles rubbing a hand over his face. He can feel Nasir stirring on top of him, groaning miserably as he rubs his face into Agron’s chest. “Two of whom snore.”

“I sent protection to you.” Spartacus makes a point of keeping his gaze on Agron’s face, keenly aware of what Nasir’s moving leg reveals. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You know I appreciate it.” Agron mutters, peeking through his fingers at his best friend. “We both do.”

“What I would appreciate,” Nasir’s scratchy voice sounds, his face still squished against Agron’s shoulder, “is to sleep in peace and quiet. With no work and no missions and no talking before the sun is completely up.”

“Sorry Nasir.” Spartacus chuckles. ”No can do. I need you both. Up and at ‘em.”

Peeling himself off Agron, Nasir flops over lazily on to his back, stretching his arms above his head. There is a red crease on his stomach from where Agron’s hipbone rested, a wrinkle on his thigh as an imprint of his boyfriend’s shorts too. Overall, he looks sweaty and tired and blinks miserably up at the ceiling, fingers pushing a curl from his cheek. He won’t give push back to Spartacus though, draws the line of sass at a well-placed side eye and a scowl. 

“Is this one of those meetings that could have been a text?” Agron asks, slowly forcing himself to sit up, feet over the side of the bed. 

“No.” Spartacus immediately adverts his eyes, realizing that it might have been better to just call from downstairs, if the sizeable tent in Agron’s boxers is anything to go from. 

“Are you sure?” Agron rubs at his eye, squinting up at his friend. “Because you say that but my body definitely says we should go back to sleep and have this meeting in like…four hours? Maybe five?”

“No can do. You have half an hour.” Spartacus smacks his hand on the doorframe. “I told everyone to be ready for a meeting by seven.”

“Some of us like to sleep, asshole!” Agron calls after his retreating form, groaning when he hears Spartacus laugh from the stairs. There are then voices in the kitchen, loud and greeting, Gannicus laughing loudly. 

“Ags?” Nasir mutters, his hand flung out to hit Agron’s back. 

“Yeah?” Turning to look over his shoulder, Agron curses every fucking person in this house. Nasir is the perfect kind of rumpled, clothes half open and off, gaze heavy and slow. The way he’s sprawled, it would be so easy for Agron to lean over him, to slot into the fold of his legs. 

“I literally don’t think I can get up. I’m that tired.” Nasir whines, shaking his legs in protest. Agron sympathizes, yawning wide and loudly as he continues to look him over, accessing and slow. If he can’t do anything about it, the least he can do is look his fill. 

“You know you’re going to. Spartacus wants both of us.” He reaches out, flips the hem on Nasir’s shirt back so he can stare over his chest, hand smoothing over a rib. “Plus, I think there are more people downstairs.”

“You remember when we moved out of the apartment with Duro and Lugo? Because we wanted space?” Nasir rolls onto his side, trapping Agron’s hand against his sternum. “We were tired of them always waking us up and having no privacy?”

Agron’s fingers inch over, rub a thumb slowly around Nasir’s nipple and then flicks over the top, watches Nasir catch his bottom lip between his teeth. “I remember a lot of quickies in the backseat of my car.”

“And now we have a house.” Nasir groans as Agron does it again, presses just the tip of his nail into it so Nasir flinches from the sharp sting. “And I think we have more people here than we ever did at the apartment.”

Leaning over, Agron pushes Nasir flat on his back, keeping a hand on his chest to pin him. The kiss is slow and open, teasing teeth bite at Nasir’s lip. It’s the beginning of something neither one of them can finish, left just on the cusp of too much and not enough and no fucking time.

“Come on. Get up.” Forcing himself, Agron slips from the side of the bed, offering a hand. “We’ll shower together, yeah? I’ll wash your hair.”

“You bribing me isn’t going to work.” Nasir mutters, peaking at him through his eyelashes. He’s flushed, shorts tented in the front. “I have standards.”

“I said I’d start with your hair.” Agron smirks, dimples on full display. “I never said that’s all I would do.”

“Fuck, you know me too well.” Nasir sighs dramatically, but lets Agron pull him off the bed. 

They end up taking longer in the shower than they intend, both too distracted to hurry. To Agron's credit, he didn't mean for things to progress they way they did. He had started with washing Nasir's hair, being attentive and gentle, enough to coax him at least fully awake. But the one thing led to another, words whispered and hands linger, and how could it not? 

They had ended up pressed tightly in the corner, not even really kissing, mostly panting into each other's mouths. Agron had tried to keep it fast, tried not to get too caught up in the feeling, of taking Nasir apart. It was so easy to reach down Nasir's back though, to part him open and press inside, slow and warm. This is how he wanted to spend his morning, watching Nasir's eyelashes flutter, to see his red mouth tilted open in pleasure.

Nasir had kept his hands between them, first playing – circling Agron’s head, nail teasing the slit, and then moving down to wrap his palm around them. Jerking them both off isn’t easy, even with two hands, cocks pressed tight together and then between them, Nasir can barely get his hands around them. The angle almost wrong with the water causing barely any friction, Nasir ends up mostly thrusting into his hand, rubbing against Agron in return. 

They need more time, more space to slow move against one another, but the tell tale dip in water temperature gives a warning that they’ve been in the water too long. Desperate keens falling from Nasir's mouth, the pressure when Agron twisted his fingers up tight and sure into his prostate. Agron had finally freed his hand from Nasir's hair to help him, cock long and thick, hot even under the cooling water. It had taken only few jagged strokes then, rough and tight, until they had come together, voices echoing loud in the small bathroom. 

The living room is packed when they finally make it downstairs, people sprawled over dining room chairs and onto the floor. Nasir takes the offered cups of coffee from Naevia with a quick kiss to her cheek. She smiles at him, a knowing look that promises more questions and teasing from her place leaning against Crixus.

It's Gannicus that's the most obvious though, sending a lewd wink to the pair with his tongue pressed pointedly into his cheek. He does it just as Agron turns from him, so only Nasir really sees, though he hears Saxa cackle too. He's not going to apologize or feel ashamed for anything he does in his own home. And, if he bumps into the other man a little roughly when he walks by, well, it wasn’t accident. 

The amount of people in the room doesn't leave a lot of options. Agron levels Nemetes with enough of a glare though that the man quickly vacates the lounge chair, Agron claiming it as his own. Nasir perches on the arm next to him, steadied with Agron's arm around his waist, holding both of their cups. 

"Now that we're all here," Spartacus announces, drawing attention to his place by the large, front window. "We can begin."

Spartacus has always been the type of guy to hush a crowd, gains attention with a few, well selected words and a slightly raised hand. He's back lit now, furrowing and serious, a king to his own claim. Around the room, everyone hushes, ready to hear what their leader has to say. 

"I'm not going to sugar coat it. We've learned that the Romans are planning on opening a club on the East Side's strip, furthering their control and their territory. They're fronting it as a gift for Crassus' son, Tiberius, but we can assume it has other dubious reasons."

"Are the Pirates now allies with them?" Naevia asks, eyebrows raised. 

"We can't be sure. Though, some sort of deal must have been struck or the Romans have something over them." Spartacus answers. "Our information makes it seem like they're not exactly friendly though. I doubt that the Romans will stop with one business either."

He pauses for a moment, making a point to scan the room before continuing.

"It goes without saying that creating a front like this will cause major problems. The Pirates control the bay and any goods imported or exported would be coming by the club. It would be quite easy for the Romans to double, if not, triple their business. And we're not talking petty drugs."

The group falls to murmurs, glancing around at one another. A ripple of fear cuts through them, making connections and assumptions. An alliance like this could put the Rebels in serious risk, considering selling territory and buy outs. The Romans will stop at nothing to gain advantage, even if it means sweet talking one of their worst adversaries. 

"So, what do we do? Bomb the place?" Nemetes scoffs loudly, leaning back into the wall. “And who’s taking the blame for that?”

"Nah, that will just give them more cause." Gannicus shakes his head. "Plus, the strip is full of small businesses all with their hands in Heracleo's pocket. We fuck with them, it will be all out war."

"It's already going to be war." Crixus interjects. "We've got to find out what the Romans have over them, and then we offer the sweeter deal."

"You would have us become friends with those East Side shits?" Agron hisses, leaning forward in his seat. "They may be poor assholes, but they're just as bad as the Romans. Heracleo would sell the shirt off his own mother's back if it made him any fucking money."

"Perhaps," Spartacus nods, his arms crossed now over his chest. 

"But he wouldn't sell his mother," Gannicus shrugs a little. “You’ve got to give him credit for that.”

“Men like Heracleo aren’t born to mothers, they’re fucking found in dumpsters,” Saxa snarls, her teeth clenched tightly together. “having mutated from old cigarette butts, greasy McDonalds wrappers and used condoms.” 

“See, if he’s an orphan, he’s closer to us than the Romans incest pool.” Gannicus points out. "And are we really drawing the line between what laws we're willing to break and which ones we're not?"

"Well, we're certainly not getting into human trafficking!" Saxa slams her elbow into Gannicus' side hard. 

"Regardless," Crixus' voice raises above the bolstering, loud and commanding. "We're never going to even set foot in the club, or put a stop to any of the Roman shits, if we don't make nice with the fucking Pirates."

"The enemy of my enemy." Nasir keeps his eyes on Spartacus, feeling Agron tense against him. 

"Is my friend." Spartacus finishes, a smile twitch of a smirk directed at the other man. "Very good. So, how do we do it?"

The room, again, falls into murmurs. It is no simple task - trying to make friends with people you've been fighting with for months. There are options to consider, protocols, safety. It isn't like they can just sign a treaty or some shit. These things take time and planning and bribing and it seems like they have very little choice but to spear headlong into this – caution thrown to the wind.

Balancing, Nasir turns slightly in his seat to look at Agron, slipping a hand onto his shoulder. He's furrowing again, scowling down at the mug in his hand. Nasir knows more than anyone that Agron doesn't trust people easily. He's been burned, betrayed, too many fucking times. The idea of them joining forces seems far from a good option. 

"They're Pirates, right?" Saxa turns then, tossing her blond curls over her shoulder. "Let's get them drunk."

"That's your fucking idea for everything." Rhaskos sneers, shaking his head. "German shit."

"Hey!" Lugo bristles from his place in the doorway, Donar just behind him. "Watch your fucking mouth."

“You want to say something?” Tyronius snarls around Rhaskos’ shoulder. “Go ahead. Fucking try.”

It’s been a thinly drawn line in the gang for a long time. Though everyone falls under Spartacus, all members to his leadership, there is a clear divide between what one would call ‘Agron’s Side’ and “Crixus’ Side’. Spartacus has watched them pick and poke at each other, like teasing a chained dog, getting close enough to get bit and then sprinting back. He doesn’t know what will happen the day that either of them get too close. 

"No, no, she has a point." Gannicus throws his hands up. "Saxa, continue."

Sending him a sneering smile, Saxa turns back to Spartacus. "Heracleo hates the Romans just as much as we do. We know this. So, let's make him a friend. There must be something we have that he doesn't."

“A sense of organization? A sliver of loyalty?” Agron drawls, rolling his eyes. “Proper hygiene?”

"Show him hospitality. Stroke his ego a bit." Naevia interrupts, continuing the thought. "You have to charm a man and then he opens up his wallet."

"We could have a party," Nasir agrees, making a point not to look around, but instead directs his gaze at Spartacus. "Somewhere safe, but in the Southend. Let them see we're not some fucking rich snobs, pile them full of beer and the good shit. Then, we proposition them."

“Do you always proposition men when they’re drunk?” Rhaskos scoffs loudly, jovially nudging his elbow into Tyronius’ side. “Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Whatever Tyronius was going to say dies on his tongue as Agron pointedly sits up in his chair, setting his mug down on the nearby table. Nasir, for his credit, doesn’t reply, but his blushing face says enough. 

“Instead of coming with force or intimidation.” Saxa smiles, wrapping a hand up and around Nasir’s ankle. “We come at it with friendship and alliances. Neither one of us want the war, and Heracleo would be dumb not to look at us in a favorable light, considering we have more to offer him than the Romans do.”

“And what is that?” Gannicus asks, raising a brow at her. 

“All important things to consider.” 

Spartacus raises his voice again, drawing the attention back to himself. This time, the hum of conversation takes longer to cut off, people shifting restlessly. He rarely calls most of the gang together like this, usually sticking to the main, close group, but he thinks it’s important to feed information when it’s necessary. Everything has its own calculating. 

“Dismissed.” 

Spartacus waves a hand in a small circle, effectively ending the discussion. There is no point in dragging it on and on. Ultimately the decision will be left up to him regardless, Spartacus and the small group he considers to be his upper generals. It’s answered with the quiet thump of fists hitting shoulders, a silent salute before people begin to get up, groaning to one another. Nothing will be decided or acted on until Spartacus gives the command anyways. 

Sliding from his perch on the chair, Nasir raises his arms above his head in a long stretch, groaning as the straps of his overall shorts dig into his shoulders. He going to need at least another two hours of sleep and possibly half a gallon of coffee before he's going to feel like a functioning adult, strung out and exhausted from the stress of last night. 

It doesn't seem to be happening. Even as people are filing out the front door, but he can tell by Spartacus' expression that he's not leaving just yet. If he stays, then that means at least another hour of conversation (and fighting) between Agron, Crixus, and him. 

Resigned, Nasir leans down and presses a soft kiss just to the corner of Agron's jaw. "I'm going to go make another pot. You okay?” He pries the now empty mug out of Agron’s clenched fist.

"Yeah, fine." Distracted, Agron turns his head, meeting Nasir's mouth in an off-center kiss. "I'm good."

“You want breakfast?” Lightly, Nasir drags his nails through Agron’s hair, scratching a little at his scalp. It usually helps to sooth Agron when he’s stressed, always laying on the couch with his head in Nasir’s lap, leaning into the touch. “To come back to earth?”

“Sorry.” Agron seems to snap out of it with the phrase, glancing quickly up at Nasir instead of the random spot on the floor. “What did you ask me?”

“Do you want breakfast?” Nasir repeats, corner of his mouth raising in a slow smile. “Some toast maybe?”

“No. No, I’m okay.” Wrapping a hand around Nasir’s waist, Agron pulls him close so he can kiss him softly, a slow, chaste little thing that makes Nasir’s chest flutter. “Just more coffee, ja?”

Nasir doesn't believe him, sends him a worried look but doesn't pry. It's a lot to take in, especially considering that Agron is going to have to be on the forefront of these negotiations, biting his tongue and playing nice. Nasir moves to leave him to his overthinking, heading towards the kitchen, when Spartacus is suddenly touching his shoulder, drawing him back.

“Stay for a minute?”

Pivoting, Nasir sinks down to perch on the coffee table, Agron on his right. He’s already leaning forward, elbows hooked on his knees and hands linked against his mouth. When Nasir smiles at him, Agron doesn’t smile back, looking resigned. Crixus and Spartacus take up much of the space on the couch; Crixus’ face etched deeply in concentration.

“As Crixus and Agron already know,” Spartacus begins, voice low as others continue to make their way out. “We’ve already started the moves towards an alliance with Heracleo and the Pirates.”

“Oh.” Nasir glances to the side at Agron, takes in the deep furrow on his expression, mouth twisted down into a deep scowl. “That’s good news?”

“It’s not the most ideal answer to all this, but it is what needs to be done. Think of it as a means to an end,” Spartacus continues. He’s always been gentle with Nasir, encouraging and coaxing, never turning to force or intimidating. “But there are things we have to sacrifice for the greater good.”

“That’s good then.” Nasir sets the mugs down on the polished wood. “I support you in whatever you three think is best. As I’m sure everyone else will.”

“Always so loyal.” Spartacus smiles, reaching out to pat Nasir’s shoulder. “That’s why I knew I could count on you when it comes to this project.”

“Of course! What do you need?” Nasir smiles easily, nodding.

“You don’t have to agree until you’ve heard everything.” Agron grumbles beside him, shifting in his chair. “Spartacus, tell him.”

Smiling in concession, Spartacus tilts his head. “The Pirates are rich in many things. They’re excellent criminals – in their own right. They have drugs flowing in from all over and their market is loyal and always expanding. And while they can turn a quick profit from stealing and then selling, they are lacking in something major as well – technology.”

“Understandable.” Nasir shrugs his shoulders a little. “The Pirates have always been good foot men. Petty crime is their calling card. You don’t need advanced clearances and wiped surveillance when you just shoot out the camera before it can see you.”

“Exactly.” Crixus agrees, pointedly looking at Spartacus as if Nasir had just made a point to a previous conversation. 

“You’re not wrong.” Spartacus agrees. “But, Heracleo would like to expand some of his dealings. We’re talking bank transfers, corporation hacking, security breaches, cyber mining, hell, even basic fake ids and passports. Everything they have his rudimentary. He’s looking to join the future.”

“So, you want me to be his hacker?” Nasir raises an eyebrow.

“You’re not joining the Pirates.” Agron interjects, tone harsh. “No fucking way, Spartacus.”

“Heracleo has agreed to meet and discuss joining together against the Romans.” Spartacus explains, sending Agron a warning look. “But part of the package would include the creation of certain programming that would make the Pirate’s crime life a little easier. And, as everyone knows, I have the best tech in the country.”

“I could do it.” Nasir muses, thinking it over. “But to create something like that, I’d have to basically design it with someone in mind. Like, someone on his side would have to run it.”

“Why?” Crixus asks, turning his full attention to Nasir. 

“Well,” Pausing, Nasir looks at Agron, gauging his reaction before continuing. “It’s like Agron said. I couldn’t be a Pirate and a Rebel. I mean, if things go south, Heracleo is going to know I’m going to pick our side. Heracleo would be dumb not to ask for insurance – just incase something happened.”

“Valid point.” Crixus continues. “We’re still in the beginning negotiations of an alliance. Though, I’m sure Heracleo has already thought about this. He’s still not fully made his terms known to us yet. We’ll just have to see what he wants.””

“He’s not asking you to train someone. He’s basically asking to rent you.” Agron snarls, leaning forward in his chair. “Nasir isn’t on the bargaining table.”

“Nasir is right here.” Nasir squints at Agron. “And is capable of making his own decisions.”

“Heracleo had mentioned someone in his group that might have a background knowledge that you can expand on,” Spartacus raises his voice a little, talking over Agron. “It would be on your terms, your meeting place, etcetera.”

“That’s all he wants? For me to show some guy how to break down fire walls?” Nasir scoffs, tossing his hair over his shoulder. “A youtube video could do that.”

“It’s not the only thing we have to give up or change. We’re talking about a major restructuring,” Crixus interjects. “But it is a major request. Heracleo isn’t going to let us in the club, hell, even in the neighborhood, without it.”

Folding his hands in his lap, Nasir glances over them. There is a scar on the base of his left thumb from jumping a wire fence when he was sixteen, a jagged one against his wrist from being cuffed by a rival gang, battle wounds. There is also a few thread tied friendship bracelets from Naevia and Mira, a tattoo of laurel leaves around his right index finger, Agron’s class ring wrapped in yarn in the back around his left middle finger. These are hands that have taken apart a thousand machines only to put them back together, to Improve them, to fix them and make them better. It’s a metaphor for his own life – for Nasir’s own potential. 

“I’ll do it.” Nasir looks up, meets Spartacus’ eyes. “But I want in.”

Grinning wide, Spartacus nods. “Your gear, your input, of course.”

“I want more than that. None of you know the first thing about designing basically military grade gear especially surveillance,” Nasir continues, leaning forward. “When you decide to use my stuff, and you already are thinking about it, no one installs it but me.”

“Nasir,” Agron begins to cut in, leaning forward, but he’s cut off by Spartacus’ raised hand. 

“Deal.” 

“Fine. Count me in.” Nasir stands up, tapping his fist to his shoulder in salute. 

“I’ll be in talks with him today.” Spartacus smiles, standing as well. “Then I’ll be in touch.”

There are a few more parting words, pleasantries that feel odd when considering that a gang just had a major meeting in a small, living room on the Southend. Spartacus is always in favor of the manners of things, being polite even to the lowest of his ranks. Agron, for his credit, waits until everyone else has cleared out, shutting and locking the door, before he rounds back on Nasir, eyes huge. 

“Nasir, you can’t be serious.”

“Before you start,” Nasir calls over his shoulder, taking the mugs into the kitchen, “nothing is set in stone.”

“You’re basically signing up to wire tape the entire Roman empire.” Agron follows after him, picking up random dishes still left in the living room. “If this place is supposed to be an underground headquarters for Crassus, you know that it’s going to turn into a hub. Plus, can you imagine all the shit Tiberius, and in connection, Caesar is going to get into?”

“Good.” Nonchalant, Nasir turns on the faucet, letting the sink fill. “We should have done this years ago.”

“And there are reasons we haven’t.” Agron steps into the kitchen, setting the plates and cups on the counter to Nasir’s left. “Just because something seems like a good idea doesn’t mean it is.”

“We could be saving hundreds of lives by intercepting information,” Nasir reasons, scrubbing at a mug. “I can’t just pass that opportunity off. Plus, if I’m designing shit for Heracleo, I can slip our own code into it.”

“Meaning what?” Agron asks, leaning back into the counter and crossing his arms. “You’re going to spy on them too?”

“Why not?” Looking over him, Nasir shrugs a little. “You know this deal isn’t going to last forever. If I can kill two birds with one stone, why not?”

Agron has to admit that it’s brilliant. He’s not even sure if Spartacus would have thought of something like this, especially in the short amount of time that Nasir has even known about the deal. Still, what he is suggesting is incredibly dangerous – especially if some guy is supposed to be learning from Nasir. 

“What exactly do you think is going to happen if the Romans catch you? If Caesar catches you?” Agron reaches over him, gently pushing the knob down, cutting off the water. “Nasir, come on, you need to consider this. We’ve both seen the shit that happens to people that cross them.”

“They’ll kill me.” Nasir slips his hands from the water, blunt and to the point. “Good thing that I’m better than all of them. They’ve never caught me any other time.”

He dries his hands on a nearby dish towel, ignoring the rest in favor of moving across the kitchen and pressing against Agron instead. Sometimes, it’s better to reinforce words with actions – something that he’s learned very much from the man before him. It’s not like Agron’s fear is unfounded. There is always a risk, especially considering what the Romans are known for – torture and a slow execution. But Nasir can’t sit idle while he could be helping.

“Agron.” Nasir is barefoot, his nose barely brushing Agron’s chin, but he still leans into him, wrapping his arms slowly around his neck. 

“Nasir.” Agron sighs deeply, tilting his head down to look at Nasir clearly. 

“Hey.” Nasir smiles up at him, slow and careful, the type that crinkles in the corner of his eyes. It’s a hidden expression, something only earned by Agron himself. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Agron’s expression flickers, a crack in the angry façade, as he begrudgingly purses his lips. 

Leaning up on his toes, Nasir presses his mouth slow and sweet to Agron’s. It’s a chaste kiss, a melding lowly of lips against lips, something intimate and secret even as they stand in their open kitchen. Agron can’t resist wrapping his arms around Nasir’s waist, pulling him up on his toes to reach him better – overwhelmed and secure. 

“You know I believe in you.” Agron murmurs, nose brushing against the tip of Nasir’s. “I trust you. More than anyone. But I don’t trust them – the Romans or the Pirates.”

“Then trust me to know I’m making my own decision.” Nasir bites his bottom lip, gaze drifting over Agron’s face. “And I’ll be careful. I’m not some naïve teenager getting in over my head. I can defend myself. I’m damn good with a knife and a gun. You and Spartacus have trained me well.”

“Are you going to fight me if I order extra people around?” Agron leans back, his fingers drifting to Nasir’s jaw. “More surveillance and guards? More people staying over?”

“No.” Nasir shrugs his shoulder. “I know you make Lugo and Totus drive by the shop when I’m there. And Nemetes and Saxa when I’m here alone. They’re not exactly subtle. Half the time, Saxa just comes over.”

“I’m not sorry. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” Agron’s thumb brushes over Nasir’s mouth, curling his bottom lip down slightly. “I can’t even imagine-“

“It’ll be okay.” Nasir surges forward, kisses the words right out of Agron’s mouth, tongue curling around his. 

There isn’t anyone around to interrupt them now, something Agron seems to realize at the same moment that Nasir does. Hands drift, Agron’s slipping into the back pockets of Nasir’s overall shorts, gripping hard and lifting. Moaning in reply, Nasir drags his hands down Agron’s chest, nails catching on the skin not protected by his tank top. There is a desperation that turns everything sharp, needy and tight, and when Nasir pulls back for air, he’s surprised to see Agron’s eyes dilate. 

“Just promise me,” Nasir pants, gasping breath across Agron’s mouth, “that if you insist on people staying in our house, that we’re not taking a vow of celibacy?”

“Fuck no.” Agron scoffs, arms flexing as he easily picks Nasir up, guiding his legs around his waist. “They can buy ear plugs.”

Nasir’s laugh is wild and loud as he starts moving towards the stairs, easily walking even with the added weight. The dishes are only half done. The coffee pot is still on, a carton of eggs left on the counter. It doesn’t seem to matter though as Agron’s mouth trails warm and sharp over Nasir’s neck, not needing to look up as he begins on the stairs. 

“Agron! I have work today!” Nasir giggles, trying to pull away from him, just enough to draw a full breath. “We can’t.”

“Too bad.” Agron doesn’t even bother removing his teeth from Nasir’s skin as he says it. “You’re going to be late.”

“You going to call Oenomaus and tell him?” Nasir asks around a moan, hands twisting in Agron’s shirt. “Cause I don’t think he wants to hear it from me. Not after last time.”

“Sure.” Agron moves his mouth to just below Nasir’s ear, easing his mouth over a tender spot that makes goosebumps appear on Nasir’s skin. “Sorry man, Nasir is too busy getting pile drived to worry about fixing someone’s breaks.”

“You wouldn’t.” Nasir gasps, breath caught in his throat as Agron presses him against the wall outside of their bedroom. 

“I could send a picture too.” Agron offers, leaning back just enough to slip the strap of Nasir’s overalls over their buttons, yanking down the front. “Maybe suck a giant A into your chest?”

“I’m pretty sure everyone in this neighborhood and the next one over knows who I belong to,” Nasir grins, leaning in and licking his way back into Agron’s mouth. “You’re not subtle.”

“Just in case?” Agron asks, tugging his teeth on Nasir’s bottom lip. 

“How about instead,” Having to put his hand between them, Nasir pushes Agron back as far as this position allows, “you let me go to work now, since Saxa and Naevia and Pietros just saw me and know I don’t have a good excuse-“ Agron opens his mouth, but Nasir puts a finger over it. “No, your dick is not a good reason.”

“And if you can’t walk afterwards?” Agron smirks, wide and clear, dimples on full display. 

“How about,” Nasir raises his voice, feels his face heat, “I’ll try to get off early tonight. And we can spend the evening together.”

“Hmm.” Agron considers, leaning back to drag his gaze slowly over Nasir. 

“And if we’re really lucky, I might just let you fuck me.” Nasir walks his fingers up over Agron’s chest. “In any position you want.”

Tilting his head back, Agron seems to mull over the proposition before raising his hand between them, offering a handshake. It isn’t until Nasir’s hand is in his though, that he leans forward, sealing it with a kiss. 

“Deal. But I expect to start by eat my dinner on the dining room table. Hands and knees.” Agron leans in then, presses his teeth to Nasir’s ear lobe. “And I’m not stopping till you’ve come twice. Then you can have my cock.”

“Agron!” Nasir groans, hands skidding over him as Agron drops down his legs, setting him back on his feet. “Fuck! You can’t just say shit like that.” 

“Why?” Agron smirks, drags his lips over Nasir’s jaw as he pulls back, hands a slow drag on his waist. 

“Because.” Nasir’s head thumps as it hits the wall behind him, hips jutted out and seeming to follow Agron. 

Leaning against the opposite side of the hallway, Agron drags his gaze slowly over Nasir, cataloging details. One of the straps of his overalls hangs loose, the denim stretched taut and tented from the outline of his cock. His tank top is skewed to the side, the strap down his left arm. There is a fairly large bruise forming on his throat, kiss bruised and violet. He’s all disheveled hair and panting breath and Agron wants nothing more than to press himself against Nasir and spend the rest of his life there. 

“Well?” Agron raises a brow. He can hear someone’s phone vibrating downstairs. 

“I need to go.” Nasir says slowly, though he doesn’t move. 

“You do.” Agron agrees, making a point of flexing as he crosses his arms over his chest. It instantly draws Nasir’s eyes down, licking slowly across his bottom lip. 

“I’ll see you tonight?” Nasir asks, kicking a foot into the floor. 

“You will.” 

Agron’s smirk slowly grows the more Nasir twists against the wall behind him. It’s clear he doesn’t want to move, hands curling into fists at his side. Nasir won’t go against what he’s expected to do though, especially when he knows he’ll hear about it from Oenomaus. He’ll beat himself up too much about it. Relenting a little, Agron stands up off his side of the hallway, approaching in slow, careful steps. 

When he reaches him, Agron guides Nasir’s face up with a finger below his chin. He has to stoop, their height difference even more obvious now with the way Nasir leans into the wall. The kiss this time is soft, slow and prying until Agron can slip into his mouth. It’s the type that has Nasir moaning high and soft, a gentle mew that Agron can basically taste, so sweet it simmers on the very cusp of being too much. 

“Go to work.” Agron murmurs, his mouth barely above Nasir’s. “And I’ll be here when you get off.”

“Mmkay.” Nasir, breathless, leans in to steal one last kiss before Agron steps back, lets him move into the room in search of shoes. 

It’s not like Agron isn’t needed at the bar. Half the cooking gets done in the morning, and Nemetes is probably pitching a fit that he’s locked out until Agron gets there. He’s not going to apologize though. Not for spending a little extra time watching Nasir struggle to pull on boots and also pull his hair up at the same time. Won’t be sorry for giving up time to make sure Nasir at least leaves with a granola bar, a kiss smeared on his forehead.

And if Agron texts Lugo to drive by and make sure that Nasir makes it to work, well, that’s his business.


	4. Chapter 4

Working in a gang is kind of like having a second, fulltime job, Agron reasons. There are phone calls he’s required to be on. Places he’s required to attend. Actions and tasks he’s required to perform with usually feedback and critique. The only thing that never seems to stay steady, not something you can always count on, is the pay. Agron doesn’t assume to understand how Spartacus divvies it out in the ledger. He supposes that the more you do for him, the more money you make. Still, it’s not like they get paid by the hour. 

“I don’t know what to say to you.” Agron sighs slowly, a deep inhale through his nose and then out of his mouth. 

“You could thank me.” Spartacus, elbows on the bar, grins up at him around a mouthful of knödel. 

“You broke into my house.” Setting the beer stein down on the polished wood, Agron leans down so his voice doesn’t carry across the mostly deserted bar. In the corner, Duro is sat rolling silverware with Chadara.

“I didn’t break in. I have keys.” Spartacus uses his fork to cut another dumpling in half, dipping it in gravy. “Besides, Nasir would have let me in.”

“That’s not the point.” Agron replies. “You still went to my house, knowing full well that neither myself nor my boyfriend were going to be home.”

“I’m not docking it out of your pay, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Spartacus swallows, fixing a placating look up at him. “Think of it as an anniversary gift.”

“Our anniversary is in October.” Agron purses his lips into a deep frown. “Which you know, because last year, you gave him a car.” 

“Nasir deserves a car for putting up with you.” Spartacus flashes him another rueful grin. “Besides, it’s not like he didn’t rebuild half of it himself.”

“Putting up with me?” Agron hisses, pointing a finger at him. “You were the one who basically drug him into this gang. You were the one who kept dropping hints, putting us together on projects, making me train him on how to hold a fucking knife. You basically forced us together.”

“And look, you’re the better off for it.” Spartacus spreads his arms in a showing motion. “I gave you the love of your life. And in return for putting up with you, I gave Nasir a car. And now this. Maybe for a wedding present, I’ll buy you both a yacht. Or maybe a vacation home.”

“You’re like the Santa Claus from hell.” Agron mutters, rolling his eyes. “Like a mother fuckin’ Krampus.”

I don’t see the big deal. I had the men put everything back the way they found it.” Seeming unsatisfied with Agron’s expression, Spartacus tucks back into his food. “Honestly, I was kind of impressed how fast they got it done.”

“Because!” Agron growls, his shoulders flexing as he leans in. “Last week, you sent over four guys to guard my house because we thought the Romans were going to kill me. Now, you’ve suddenly decided that the threat isn’t imminent anymore, but you sneak into my house to install central air? What the logic there?”

“Our source tells us that Crasses won’t allow Tiberius to seek retribution against you incase it causes us to retaliate – thus taking focus off the club.” Spartacus takes a long drink of his beer. “I figured, if you were still going to be paranoid – rightly so – that the least I could do was to make sure you and Nasir didn’t suffocate in the heat of keeping your windows shut. Considering that I sent you to attack Seppius and Sextus.”

“You still could have asked.” 

Agron wants to say more, but at that moment, the summer sun suddenly spills across the floor as the front door is pushed open. Nemetes steps inside, face red and blotchy from the heat outside. The Wood Nickle isn’t supposed to open for another half an hour, but the staff are required to get there at least an hour before in order to set up and get things ready for the day. Nemetes doesn’t seem bothered by his lateness as he hobbles in, a dripping can of soda clutched in his fist. 

“You’re late.” Agron drawls, crossing his arms over his chest. “Again.”

“Sorry man. Got caught up.” Nemetes waves a hand, shuffling across the floor. “Won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time. And the time before that.” Agron levels him with a thin lipped frown. “I’m not paying you to waste my time.”

“I know. I know.” Nemetes continues walking, not bothering to lift his head again. He has a weird sort of shuffling gate, feet barely lifting off the floor so his boots drag on the wood. “You could hire any fucking Arschloch off the street and they would happily come lick your boots. I get it.”

“Nemetes.” Agron replies, voice sharp and commanding, enough that the soft chatter from Duro and Chadara instantly stop. “I’m not running a charity house here. If you’re going to fuck around and screw me, then you can find somewhere else to fucking drag your ass.”

“Ey, fuck off, would ya?” Pausing at the kitchen door, Nemetes finally raises his head, his eyes bloodshot and watery. “I said it wouldn’t happen again and it won’t. I had a late start this morning. Cut me some slack, ja?”

Gaze flickering to Spartacus, Agron grits his teeth sharply together. The Rebels might be Spartacus’ gang – his pack, but inside this bar, Agron is in control. He slams open the door separating the bar from the general dining room, stalking across the short way to grab Nemetes by the collar. The frames on the wall all rattle as Nemetes makes contact with the plaster, sprawled out with his head barely missing the gilded mirror. 

Behind, Duro is quick on his feet, but a held out hand from Spartacus stops him. He’s seen Agron jump the bar before and get into the frenzy of a fight. He’s seen him drag men out by the scruff of their neck, thrown the gutter with a slur of German and a ban slapped on their back. Hell, Duro has helped bounce people out before. But it’s never been like this, violence turned suddenly against one of their own. 

“Do I need to fucking repeat myself?” Agron asks, his forearm firmly planted across Nemetes chest. 

“N-No.” Nemetes shakes his head, his breath ragged and fast. 

“Obviously I fucking do. Am I making myself clear?” Agron presses into him more. “You show up at _my fucking bar_ still drunk from the night before, toting some macho fucking attitude, and expect me to listen to your shit? Nah, not here. You need to remember your place, Nemetes. Who the fuck your talking to.”

“I-It won’t-“ Nemetes struggles, his eyes bulging slightly. “It won’t happen again.”

“No. It won’t.” 

Agron suddenly wrenches away, backing up a few feet. He doesn’t bother watching Nemetes suddenly slouch forward, his face red and blotchy, tear tracks sliding down his cheeks. Agron and Spartacus share another look, this one doesn’t need any verbal ques or phases. Instead, the slowly raised eyebrow speaks volumes.

“Duro, call Lugo in. I need him to cover a shift.” Agron commands, brushing invisible dirt off his hands onto his jeans as he makes his way back to the bar. 

“Wh-What?” Nemetes looks up then, frantic and wide eyed. 

“Come on man,” Duro interjects, his phone already pressed to his ear. “Go home. You’re drunk. You can’t fucking work the kitchen like that.”

Nemetes doesn’t get a chance to reply as Duro turns away from him, already prattling on in German to the receiver. Picking up his dropped pop can, Nemetes shuffles forward, his composure shot, not even daring to look up at Spartacus, who continues to calmly eat his foot. Agron only makes one motion, a quick head tilt to the door and then goes back to his task at hand.

It’s silent in the bar until the door swings shut behind him, effectively cutting the main dining room into dim light. Duro ends his call with a triumphant laugh, tossing his head back as he emerges from the hallway leading into the bathrooms. The room feels heavy, tension high, but Duro has never let shit like that bother him. Instead, he crosses over until he can pat Agron on the back. 

“Lugo will be here in forty minutes. He was sleeping.” Reaching behind, Duro snags an extra apron from the shelf. “I’ll go start things back there and he can take over when he gets here. It’s mostly warming and prepping the meat, yeah?”

“Yeah. The menu list is on the deep freeze.” Agron motions with his head again towards the kitchen door. “Don’t forget to pull the pies out of their either.”

“Aye aye.” Duro makes a show of saluting him, playful and trying to at least break some of the frown from Agron’s face. It almost works, an eyeroll earned, followed by a swat with the bar towel. 

“Hurry up or we’ll be serving bar peanuts and soft pretzels for the lunch rush.”

Spartacus, having cleaned his plate, folds his hands in front of him and waits until the bar employees are squared away with their tasks. Chadara is all sweet smiles and bouncing curls as she sets the tray of newly wrapped silverware just behind the bar, retreating to start lowering chairs. Duro is singing off key in the kitchen, a poor rendition of _Call Your Girlfriend_ , but the fans above the stove half muffle it. Agron sets himself up with the drawers for the day, using the safe under the till to start counting out the money. 

“Are we going to talk about that?” Spartacus asks, watching his best friend closely. He’s known Agron since he was ten years old. That’s a lot of time to memorize facial expressions. 

“What’s there to talk about?” Agron shrugs, thumbs sliding over the dollar bills in his hand. “He fucking does this shit all the time. It’s like lately he’s a totally different person. He used to come in here, work hard, be a good participant, blah blah blah. Now, I’m lucky if he comes in on time – and sober. It’s usually one or the other.”

“Has Lugo or Gannicus told you anything?” Spartacus reasons, surely if something was going on, one of them would know. 

“Nope. Nothing.” Agron glances up. “Even when he was staying over, he basically acted brain dead the whole time. Constantly on his phone. Nasir said he forgot to lock the backdoor when he went out for a smoke.”

“Seems odd.” Spartacus hums thoughtfully, taking the last swallow of his beer and standing up. “Well, as always, it’s been fun.”

“You heading out?” Agron asks, dropping the plastic drawer into the till and slamming it shut. 

“Yeah, lots of business to attend to.” Spartacus straightens his shirt, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. “I’m meeting with Crixus and Gannicus in a little bit.”

“Spartacus,” Agron waves away the money, not even bothering to punch the order in. “You’ll be careful, yeah?”

“I always am.” Flashing Agron a grin, Spartacus tilts his head just slightly to the side. “You remember we’re meeting with Heracleo tonight, yeah?”

“After midnight. I got it.” Agron nods, though if he’s being honest, his stomach twists at the thought. “I’m getting out of here around six. Will go home for a bit and then meet up with you. Just text me where to be.”

“Alright.” Spartacus smirks a little. “Give Nasir my love. And hey, enjoy that air conditioning, yeah?”

“Asshole.” Agron’s comment is half forgotten under Spartacus’ laughter, the front door shutting behind him. 

\- - - 

Nasir is all the way around the car when he spots him, half slouched against one of the front porch posts, a sweaty beer can at his feet. Duro is a mess of damp curls and bad posture, looking like the cover art of an ep album. His black t-shirt is half soaked in a v down the front, half skewed around the logo for the Nickle. He’s rolled up his sleeves to beat the heat, exposing the large red snake tattooed on his left bicep. Nasir levels him with a slow, assessing look, shoving his keys into the lock on his trunk. 

“It’s barely five o’clock.” 

“I work in a bar,” Duro slowly cranes his head up, squinting in the early evening sun. “Every time is five o’clock.”

“Did you come over just to steal your brother’s beer?” Nasir slides his hands off the car, hooking them on his hips. “Cause that’s also at the bar…which he owns.”

“No.” Duro purses his lips. “I came to see you. But you weren’t home yet, so then I let myself in for a refreshment – one which I know you would have offered if you had been home. But then, I remembered you and Agron are on some bullshit about not letting anyone come over, so I locked the door and decided to wait for you on your porch.”

“We’re not on some bullshit. This is our house!” Nasir snaps loudly, suddenly glancing around to make sure that no one heard him. For as busy as the street usually is, it seems most people are either not home or already inside. “What do you want Duro?”

The question seems to prompt Duro into shyness, hooking a hand around the back of his neck. They haven’t always had the best relationship – even back in high school. For all of Agron’s jealousy, it seems that Duro got all the pettiness in the family. It had taken them literally years to be able to be civil to one another – a joint understanding that neither Duro nor Nasir were going anywhere and that they both were united in their love of Agron. 

“I need help.” Duro finally sighs, digging in his pocket to hold up his phone. “And I also cracked the screen on this.”

“What sort of help?” Nasir’s eyes narrow, taking half a step forward. If it’s something official, they’re better off not discussing it out in the open. 

“Boy help.” Duro says and then quickly changes it. “Man help. Men help? I need help. With a man. From a man?”

“And you came to me for this?” Nasir raises an eyebrow. “Again, you have a brother. Who I might add, is a man.”

“It’s a sensitive topic.” Duro’s voice dips, leaning forward heavily to mask the volume of his voice. “You know _personal_.”

Tossing his head back, Nasir stares up at the sky for a moment, asking himself why his life turned out like this. He could have dated someone else. Someone that didn’t’ come with fifty frat bros and a little brother who is literally the definition of little brother. Resigned, he sighs deeply. 

“Fine.” Nasir pops the trunk open. “But get your ass down here. You’re helping me with these bags.”

The house is blissfully cool and dark when they get inside. Nasir had drawn the curtains shut before he left this morning, trying to block out the dregs of heat from the late August day. It feels like the summer is hanging on by the skin of its teeth, festering unbearable in the late afternoon. 

For being in the slums, surrounded by dilapidated pipe dreams, the house is fairly well put together, comfortable and calm. Nasir has done well to try and work with what he’s got, painting the living room a pale blue, accented in golds and creams. There is actual art on the walls, thrifted pieces and large mirrors stolen out of the back of department stores. It doesn’t look like the type of place in the Southend. 

Duro doesn’t bother to look in the large bag he’s carrying, though from the rustling of metal, it sounds like half a deconstructed computer and four burner phones. He sets it down by the basement door, eyeing the large padlock just above the doorknob. He’s never been down into Nasir’s workshop before, something almost sacred about how well it’s protected. It’s like Willy Wonka’s factory – no one goes in but all these wonderful devices come out. 

Not one to take multiple trips, Duro’s other arms aches from the multiple bags of groceries looped around his wrist, cutting off circulation. He struggles with the mismatched weight now, but somehow manages to toss them up on the counter, hearing the distinct sound of a dozen metal cans hitting the formica. Nasir delicately sets his own bag of what looks like a loaf of bread on the counter next to him, flashing him a knowing smirk. 

“I’ll fix your phone after dinner.” Nasir begins to dig into the bags, assessing. “I assume you’re staying?”

“Am I allowed?” Duro asks, moving out of his way. He knows better than to help with this part. “Do I need to make a reservation? Call ahead?”

Nasir pointedly rolls his eyes, tossing a bag of beans onto the counter. He’s not going to apologize for wanting privacy. It’s not like he was the one throwing the fit either. Agron wants it just as much as he does. 

“I have to ask! You guys are being so secretive now. Can’t come over to play Madden without calling. Aren’t allowed to raid the fridge for a desperate snack. Gotta knock before entering.” Duro tosses his hands up. “It’s not like you’re trying for a baby or something.” 

“You do realize you’re complaining about not using my house like your own bachelor pad, right?” Nasir asks, back to Duro as he stands on his toes, trying to shove a box of crackers on a top shelf. “When you literally live six blocks away at your own bachelor pad?”

“My apartment is shit compared to here though!” Duro croons, leaning over Nasir to help him. It’s not without a knowing smirk, a hidden short joke left unspoken. “We’re young dudes. We gotta chill. Eat Doritos and play videogames. Nothing wrong with it.”

“Well, _dude_ ,” Nasir shoves a playful elbow back into Duro’s side. “You can do all that, just make sure it’s a good time to come over. It’s basic manners.”

“I don’t have to use manners. We’re family.” Duro scoffs loudly, rolling his eyes. “Families don’t have manners.”

“Yes, they do.” Nasir shoots back, not looking up from the bag he’s suddenly digging through. 

Duro waves him off, backing up so he can pull himself onto the counter. The laminate groans under his weight but holds. He’s left his beer abandoned too long, the beverage murky and luke warm. He’s not going to let it go to waste though, guzzling a large portion of it as Nasir moves swiftly around the kitchen. He must have changed out at work, a smear of grease on his shoulder – probably put there from an itch – the only sign of what Nasir’s actual job is. 

“What is going on with you two?” 

Nasir turns around at that, brows raised high. 

“What do you mean?”

“Come on,” Duro rolls his head back against the cabinet behind him, his curls a wild mess. “I know my brother. He doesn’t get introspective and mopey over the promise of a big show down. If anything, I thought he would be all for attacking the Romans anyway we can.”

“I’m sure he is.” Nasir reasons, busying himself with pulling out a cutting board. “It’s not like it’s an easy thing though. And you know the more we do, the more responsibility gets put on him. Agron is probably just trying to think it through. He doesn’t like to be blind sided. Plus, he doesn’t trust the Pirates – with good reason.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like it’s anything new.” Duro shrugs his shoulders a little. “He fucking went ballistic today. Just like snapped. And Spartacus didn’t even blink. He just sat there eating his fucking food, all calm.”

“What happened?” Nasir dumps a few potatoes into the sink, turning on the water to wash them. It’s not that rare for Agron to lose his temper, especially in front of Spartacus. It is rare that Spartacus lets him have free reign though. 

“Fucking Nemetes.” Duro scoffs against the rim of his beer. “Came into work late and half busted from the night before. I haven’t seen Agron that mad in a while. Not to one of our own at least. Basically threw Nemetes against the wall and told him to get his shit together or Agron was gonna throw him out.”

“He can’t exactly work in a kitchen around heavy machinery if he’s drunk.” Nasir reasons, scrubbing harshly at the dirt. “It’s too much of a liability. What if State came in? Or Osha? Agron could lose his license.”

“That would be the logical reason.” Duro rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “But nah, when I’m telling you he went off, Agron went off. Like, arm across his chest, yelling in his face, turning red.” 

Setting the newly clean potatoes on the counter, Nasir sets the knife down and slowly looks up at Duro. There is something about his phrasing, about the tilt in his voice, that raises the hairs at the back of Nasir’s neck. There has been a growing tension in the group for nearly two weeks now. Nasir had chalked it up to stress, to paranoia about the Romans and the constant shit they’re always trying to pull, but maybe it’s something else. Maybe Nasir’s bad feeling that twists and festers in his gut is something more. 

“Look, you and I both know Agron. He’s an Aries.” Nasir pauses, seeming to choose his words. “He blows hot and then it’s gone and he’s moving onto the next thing. I’m sure he was just pissed about Nemetes being late and doing dangerous shit. You know Agron has worked his ass off to own the Nickle. Especially around here, it’s not easy having a successful business.”

“Yeah, true.” 

The words seem to ease whatever Duro was thinking, sprawling back against the counter again. He’s scooted off in the next minute though as Nasir lightly taps his leg, needing the rest of the space to continue prepping. It’s like as soon as his feet are back on the ground though, he’s back at it again. 

“Yeah, I don’t buy it. Did something else happen? Are you guys okay?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Nasir half wonders if Agron said anything, if he had hinted at his brother that things were feeling a little rocky lately. Surely though, if things had been said, after their talk a week ago, they must be better. 

“I dunno.” Duro drawls, crossing his arms over his chest. “Been together since high school. Practically haven’t dated anyone else or even broken up. Basically in each other’s pockets all of the time. All you guys do is work and bone. Don’t you get burnt out?”

“No.” Nasir answers simply, not even bothering to look up. “Of course not.”

“Not even a little?” Duro seems to be going for teasing, but it feels suddenly too serious to meet the mark. “Never wanted to try anyone else out?”

“If you’re asking me if I’m tired of Agron,” Nasir’s words clipped and sharp, “then the answer is still no.”

“I’m asking if you guys are fighting,” Duro leans over, voice dropping. “If we should all be prepared for the big blow up.”

“I’m not going to dish any relationship drama to you.” Nasir doesn’t look back at Duro as he works, pulling a spoon from the drawer. 

“Because I’m his brother?”

“Because you have a big mouth.” 

Nasir and Duro met during Homeroom freshman year, their last names close enough that they ended up sitting next to each other every year following. It hadn’t taken a fourteen-year-old Nasir to figure out that Duro Giesler is anything but quiet or insightful like his brother. If anything, it seems that Duro took the younger child stereotype to a new extreme – easily picking fights, being dramatic, and claiming he is always right. 

“I don’t have a big mouth!” Duro shouts indignantly, reaching over to pinch the back of Nasir’s arm. “How fucking dare you!”

“Ow asshole!” Nasir hisses, reaching back and smacking him squarely on the side of the head. “Don’t do that! You know I hate that!”

“I’m trying to be nice and check in on you and my brother and all you have are insults!” Duro replies with a sharp tug to a strand of Nasir’s hair. “You pint-sized bully!”

“I swear to god Duro, I will skin you alive if you don’t fucking stop!” 

Nasir hits him again, a little harder, and Duro retaliates by wrapping an arm around Nasir’s waist and squeezing him. It’s effective as Duro lifts Nasir nearly off his feet, the bear hug tight and unyielding, keeping Nasir’s arms pinned. He barely has to pivot, pinning Nasir into the corner of the counter, using his fingers to dig into Nasir’s ribs. It would work if not for the fact that Nasir instantly begins trying to kick him, hollering at the top of his lungs. 

“Duro! I swear to fucking god! Put me down you fucking German Neanderthal! God, you’re such an asshole.”

“Not until you apologize!” Duro reaches up again, gripping his fingers into a pinch on Nasir’s chest. “Say you’re sorry.”

“Fuck you!” Nasir kicks hard into Duro’s leg. “Stop! That hurts! There is already a bruise there!”

It’s like one moment they’re fighting and then suddenly Duro is landing hard into the kitchen island, eyes huge as Agron twists the front of his t-shirt into a tight fist. They haven’t gotten into a fist fight in fucking years, but Agron’s eyes gleaming in the dim evening light makes it look like a promise of one. Behind him, Nasir pants hard against the kitchen counter, looking ruffled but mostly unharmed. 

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Agron doesn’t bellow, but instead growls the words between tightly clenched teeth. 

“Your boyfriend told me I had a big mouth!” Duro snaps, yanking out of Agron’s hold. “And he hit me!”

“You do. And you probably deserved it.” Agron shoves a hand into Duro’s chest, a warning to stay where he is. “Doesn’t explain why I have to find my dumbass little brother manhandling my boyfriend in my goddamn kitchen!”

“We were just playing.” Duro scoffs, rolling his eyes. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“He fucking said stop.” Agron snaps, hand hitting Duro’s chest again - hard.

The tone in the kitchen suddenly changes. Where before it was rude but affectionate, Duro and Nasir often squabble and throw insults at each other. It’s part of their friendship. Now though, the tension seems to turn sickly, a rush of frustration and misunderstanding turning everything sour. Duro doesn’t reply, mouth left open in shock as Nasir eases his hands down his clothes, eyes huge. 

"I'm okay, Ags." Nasir sooths, the vegetables forgotten behind him as he steps forward, wrapping his hands around Agron's arm. "It was just play fighting. I hit Duro too."

"It was just a joke." Duro mutters weakly, hands still up and defensive. 

Agron doesn't seem to know what to do, caught between staring at his brother and feeling Nasir’s hands on him. He hadn't expected the yelling when he came up on the front porch, panic turning to a vice in his chest as soon as he heard Nasir’s frantic cries. Even if Spartacus had said the threat was gone, there is always the possibility of the Romans doing something out of spite. Agron’s certainly given them enough of a reason to. Nasir is a hell of a fight, sure, but would he really be able to fend off five, six guys after being surprised like that? 

"Hey, Agron, look at me." Nasir steps forward more, leaning his whole weight into Agron's side. He doesn't speak until Agron's turned to him, eyes tracking over his face. "It's alright, okay? I'm fine. Really. And Duro's fine."

"Peachy." Duro agrees, voice still weak. 

Drawing in a slow breath, Agron exhales sharply through his nose, dropping his head and shaking it. He feels like he always gets like this right before someone major happens – a job or an alliance. The paranoia and anxiety mount and pile in his chest until it’s hard to breathe, stuck spiraling and lashing out on those closest to him. Agron is the type of guy who wears his tension in his body and has to remind himself to unclench his jaw, to roll his shoulders back, to fucking breathe.

“Shit,” Agron groans, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. 

"It’s okay. Bad day at work?" Nasir coos, petting a hand over Agron's back. "You want a beer? Some water?"

"I'll get it." Agron mutters, leaning down to kiss the top of Nasir's head. He passes Duro on his way to the fridge, cupping the corner of his jaw in a friendly pat. "You didn't tell me why you're over here harassing my boyfriend. Considering you basically ran out of the bar saying you had to be somewhere.”

"Oh." Duro shifts uncomfortably, pulling his beer can back towards him. "I just wanted to hang out."

“Why?” Agron retrieves his own beer from the fridge, coming to lean against the counter near his boyfriend. He won’t touch him, let him work on chopping and slicing the rest of the vegetables, but sometimes Agron just likes to watch him. Nasir gets a little furrow in his eyebrows when he’s concentrating, mouth twisted into a cute pout. 

“It’s…” Duro’s hesitation draws his attention though, Agron raising an eyebrow at him – prompting. “I have a few questions.”

“About?” Agron waves a hand in a quick circle. 

“Bottoming.” Duro spits out, watching as the knife in Nasir’s hand clatters across the cutting board, narrowly missing his fingers. He sets his hands on either side of it, slowly drawing in a visible breath as Agron’s jaw drops. 

“What?” Agron’s voice is loud in the still kitchen. “To who? Who are you bottoming for?”

“Agron!” Nasir admonishes, turning around. “You can’t just ask that! He’s a grown man!”

“He’s my little brother!” Agron throws his hands up. “ I need to know these things!”

“Duro,” Nasir placates, turning towards him with an easy smile. “I really don’t think that I’m the one to give you-“

“Who else am I going to ask? I mean, come on.” Duro waves a finger between the two of them. “No one is hiding any secrets on who tops and who bottoms here.” 

Scoffing loudly, Nasir’s jaw drops in disbelief. He can feel Agron trying to keep his composure, shaking a little from the effort to keep his laughter at bay. Nasir can’t really be insulted by it. It’s technically true. And so what? Maybe Nasir is a bottom and is kind of a sub, but that’s his right. 

“You have google to answer questions.” Nasir scoffs, shaking his head. “It worked for me.”

“No! Come on,” Pleading, Duro steps forward with open arms. “I have specific questions. You have to help me. You’re basically my brother in law!”

“Duro.” Nasir hisses, face heating even more. He won’t turn and look at Agron.

“Come on, who is gonna tell me explicitly what I should do to prep? Are there exercises I should be trying? Do I compare his dick to a zucchini and stretch with that first??” Duro rattles off, listing them on his fingers.

“Oh my god.” Agron groans, gagging loudly. “I can’t be here for this.”

“It’s not like your asshole is some magically clean love cave.” Duro cries, motioning towards him. “I want your secrets. Your ins. Your outs. Your highs. Your lows. Your motion of the ocean.”

“Okay, well firstly, this isn’t some Greek tragedy. And second, Duro, every body is different and you can’t expect me to be able to answer…” Nasir is cut off as Duro dramatically contorts his face, pouting out his bottom lip. 

“I need help. What if I fuck it up and sex is ruined for me forever?”

“Having a bad round of sex doesn’t ruin sex forever.” Nasir shakes his head, trying for empathic.

“Not that he would know.” Agron smirks wide, wiggling his eyebrows at Duro. 

“Ugh. Gross.” Duro twists his face in disgust. “I don’t want to hear that!”

“If you want my advice, you’re going to have to keep in mind that I’m actively using said advice in my own sex life.” Nasir shrugs, motioning his hand towards Agron. “Which is with your brother.”

“Fine, but, none of that.” Duro waves his hands between them. “I want the info, not the details, okay? No Agron dick talk. Ever.”

Nasir makes a show of slowly raking his eyes down Agron’s body, smirking wide as Duro gags loudly behind him. This is what happens when you grow up with a sibling and suddenly find yourself friends with all of their friends. For as much as he loves his brother, Duro would rather go his entire life with knowing little as possible about his sexual escapades. 

"I'm going to go take a shower." Agron pulls himself up from the counter, passing Nasir with a shake of his head. "Don't tell him too many secrets about your love cave. Don't want him getting ideas."

"Ugh. Don't call it that!" Nasir wrinkles his nose in disgust. "We're not calling it that."

"You let me call it whatever I want." Agron pauses long enough to lean in, murmuring the words against Nasir's pouting mouth. "Long as I stay _deep_ in you, right?"

"Agron," Nasir's face flushes brightly, the color stretching over his neck at the tone. It's not a question. Not really. The words heavy and assertive - dominate in the way that makes Nasir's knees week. 

"I'm right here!" Duro wails loudly, covering his ears with his hands. "Literally inches from you. Gross."

"You're the one who decided to come over." Agron kisses Nasir's mouth swiftly, before pulling away with a smirk.

"Not for you!" Duro smacks a hand at Agron's back, missing him as his brother passes, his laughter echoing through the stairwell. 

Feeling hot and flustered, Nasir turns back to his cutting board, pulling a pot from a lower cabinet. He can hear the floorboards above him creaking, Agron moving around their bedroom. It's always been like this with Agron, even in the beginning - butterflies and heat and tension. Nasir had thought it would dissipate over time, that things would mellow out, reach a level ground. But it hasn't. If anything it's gotten stronger. Now they know each other. Now all Agron has to do is meet Nasir's gaze and Nasir is there - already reaching for buttons and zippers, heart so full of love he could choke on it. 

"Are you even listening to me?" Duro snarks, hoisting himself up to sit on the counter. He’s really too big for this, but manages to cram his body into the corner. 

"Wh-What? Yes." Nasir shakes his head a little, hearing the squeak of the water turning on upstairs. 

"God, you're hopeless." Duro rolls his eyes. "I said, what's your advice?"

"On bottoming?" Shrugging a little, Nasir keeps slicing. "Have you even talked to Auctus about this?"

"Yeah, of course." Duro says it flippantly, tossing his hand. "Only not."

"Why? Sex is about communication." Nasir makes a point to look at Duro through the corner of his eye. "If you can't talk about it, you shouldn’t be doing it."

"It's not that I can't talk to him about it. I mean, we talked about doing it. And I want to do it." Duro shrugs his shoulders. "But I'm nervous and Auctus has done it before. _A lot_. And I don't want to seem like some twenty five year old virgin."

“You guys haven’t fucked at all?” Nasir raises his brows at this. “Not even fooled around?”

“We have. A lot. Like, when we’re alone, we’re never not. But,” Duro raises a hand, fiddling with his nose ring, rotating it back and forth. “I think he wants to get to the main event, ya know? And I’m game but like, I haven’t even ya know, experimented. So, I thought I would ask an expert.”

“I don’t know whether to be insulted by you calling me a bottom expert or I should just add it to my resume.” Nasir comments, sliding the diced potatoes into the pot. 

“It’s a compliment.” Duro reassures, nodding adamantly. “You and Agron seem to have it worked out. I mean, you’re all over each other all the time. And I like Auctus. Like really like him. And it’s not easy. I mean, he’s fucking Barca’s ex. Which is awkward. Like, I don’t want him to think I’m a shitty lay compared.” 

Nasir considers what Duro is actually saying. He hasn't exactly had the most consistent love life. For a few months, Duro had dated Chadara - though it seemed more casual than anything else, before she was snatched up by Saxa. Then, Duro had fooled around with some guy Silva who was a repair guy that fixed the electric at the Nickle. It had ended pretty badly when he had ended up punching Duro during one their arguments. Agron had almost come unglued. Nasir hadn’t even tried to hold him back, had actually watched as look out as Agron took him down an alley. And now, Duro and Auctus have been dating for barely a few weeks – though they’ve known each other for years.

"What was your first time like?" Duro mutters, awkwardly tilting his head and looking at Nasir through his curls “Was it bad? Like it hurt a lot?”

"Well," Setting down his knife, Nasir turns to look at Duro, leveling him with a look. "It was with Agron. So, I wouldn’t say it was bad. At all."

"Wait, really?" Duro raises his eyebrows, looking genuinely surprised. 

"Yes, really." Nasir purses his lips. "Did you think I was just some wild, bed hopper at sixteen? We started dating like beginning of senior year."

"I dunno." Duro shrugs a shoulder. "I just figured you know. You would have. Before. You know. You guys didn't really like each other at the start. Or I thought. I figured you had before. Agron was pretty popular before you. So, I thought."

"Thought what?" Nasir crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t know why he’s getting so worked up. This was literally years ago. 

"I'm not trying to be offensive." Duro continues, tossing his hands up. "I just thought you had before. Agron doesn't seem like the virginity taking type. But hey, I don’t know. He didn’t really have a steady boyfriend before you."

"Well, obviously he is. We were each other’s firsts, asshole." Nasir snaps, turning his back abruptly to fill the pot with water, slamming it on the stove. 

"Nasir, wait, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just surprised." Duro leans heavily back against the cabinets. "I shouldn't be, but I am. You guys don't feel like a mystery anymore. You're like an established brand. Like, everyone should know everything about you guys now."

Messing with the knob, Nasir waits for the click of the gas to catch before he draws in a slow breath. If Agron is the silent, action type, Duro is the fucking up every other phrase type. Nasir doesn't know why he's being overly sensitive to it. Usually he can take the ribbing from the others - used to with a group of people who have known him since basically puberty. But it feels like lately all anyone can say to Nasir is some sort of criticism about his relationship. Like everyone has an opinion or feels it necessary to encroach on his territory. Sometimes, he wishes he could just take Agron and go somewhere else – far away from all the eyes and opinions of others. 

"Look, _Brüderchen_ ," Duro sighs deeply. "I'm an idiot. You know that. You know that I love you and Agron together. I do. You're good for my brother. And he's good for you."

"Okay." Nasir answers, clipped. He doesn't take his eyes off the stove. 

"Really, I kind of wish I had gotten to you before he did." Duro continues, trailing on. "I mean, I was in your grade. I sat by you in like three classes. I am an idiot. You were hot in high school. Tye dye works for you."

"No, I wasn't." Nasir rolls his shoulders back, exhaling slowly. “I was a nerd. I had huge glasses.”

"Oh, you totally were! You've got that long shiny hair and those big eyes. It's no wonder Agron saw you and basically called dibs" Duro states matter of fact. "I should have like wrestled him for you. We would be good together. I share DNA with him. I’m basically like the darker version of Agron.”

"We would have never worked out." Nasir mutters, glancing over his shoulder. "Two bottoms? What a mess."

Duro's loud peal of laughter echoes around the kitchen, barking as his hands clap in glee. He’s laughing so hard he nearly falls from his perch, having to grab the edge of the counter in a tight grip to keep from tipping. “Okay, point. But you sure you don’t to make out a little? Just to be sure? I’m very talented with my tongue. I’ve been told.”

“You literally came to me for assplay advice for your boyfriend and now you’re hitting on me?” Nasir swats at Duro’s knee, shaking his head. “Agron would skin you alive.” 

“He would.” Duro wipes at his eye, the laughter tears clouded there. “You remember Segovax? I think that’s a new reassembly record. He had that gun put together and cocked before you were all the way out of the pool.”

“Oh my god.” Nasir exhales sharp. “It was Segovax’s fault. It was his first day! His first party! He hadn’t even met me yet.”

“You know I put him up to it, right?” Duro twists into an wide smirk, staring at Nasir’s shocked face. “I thought he would like, maybe use a bad line or like, at most, _at most_ touch your ass. I didn’t know he was going to just like, pop a stiffy watching you climb out of Spartacus’ swimming pool.”

“Okay one, you’re an asshole. Like the worst asshole ever. And two. Enough about me.” Nasir moves to the fridge, pulling open the door. “You want advice, ask away.”

\- - - 

Agron smears his hand across the mirror, wiping the fog away until he can see his reflection. He turned twenty-six in April, still young even if the dark circles under his eyes give a hint at some maturity. Agron looks like his father. Inherited genes that made him tall, broad shouldered and thick chested with a scowl always on his face - the type of sturdy German farmers type that work hard and take no shit. His eyes, though, are all his mother. The type that seem a little too bright to be nature, a little too keen. 

He had buried them nearly eight years ago in a small plot in the cemetery, surrounded on all sides by strangers with a least common nationality last names. Geisler flanked on either side by Fischer, Schneider, and Klein. First generation immigrants, they had died far away from the rest of their family, shot through by American bullets, but at least they would decay with common blood. 

Reaching into the medicine cabinet, Agron shakes out two ibuprofen and swallows them with a handful of water. He's had a headache at the base of his skull all day, fanning out into his neck, making him stiff. Stress causes migraines, Agron is aware, but there is little to be done about it. In just a few short hours, Agron will be forced to sit beside Spartacus at a table full of horrible people and make deals to try and save others. He'll have to hold his tongue and think on his feet, a gun probably trained at his head. He'll have to pray that things go well, that discussion doesn't turn to violence, that they'll all make it out of there with their lives to return to those left waiting on them. 

Slipping into the bedroom, Agron moves a stack of blankets to the side on a top shelf in the dresser. There is an ancient bottle Killepitsch hidden there. The liqueur is a dark, strong blend, that Agron only uses when he's feeling a little too tense, when taking deep breaths and counting back doesn't unfurl the anxiety bubbling in his chest. There is a glass kept up there too, the rim a little dusty from the last time Agron took it down, but he fills it three fingers deep and sits down on the edge of the bed, letting the liquid slosh around his mouth. 

Through the open door, he can hear Duro singing along to the radio, the clatter of a dinner half finished echoing up the hallway. It nearly drowns out the sound of soft footsteps on the stairs, the wooden creak on the landing, but Agron could pick out those steps anywhere. He takes another deep swig as Nasir appears in the doorframe, leaning into the wood. 

"Hey." Flashing a small smile, Nasir's gaze tracks over Agron's bare chest, down to his towel wrapped waist, to the glass on his knee and the bottle at his feet. 

"What's up?" Agron asks, finishing the glass and pouring another, placing the lid back on. It's not enough to get drunk, not even really enough to get a buzz, but instead takes the edge off. He's going to need to be completely sober tonight if he's going to be Spartacus' watchdog. "You leave Duro downstairs to cook?"

"He's just watching potatoes boil." Nasir shrugs a shoulder. "It's not that hard."

"You have more faith in him than I do." Agron takes another drink, watches Nasir watch him over the rim of his glass. He's fiddling with the edge of his tank top, rolling the hem between his fingers. 

"He told me about what happened at work." Nasir confesses, his voice soft and careful. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about how Nemetes showed up at work today completely trashed or how I had to kick a guy out for grabbing Chadara's ass or," Agron lists, rolling his head back. "Or how I had to order back stock of supplies incase all of this goes to shit tonight and I'm not there to run it tomorrow."

Inhaling slowly through his nose, Nasir moves off the frame and slowly shuts the door. It cuts out the off tune wailing from down below, muffling it until it's just them - just Agron and Nasir. He's careful of the bottle when he makes his way over to the bed, slipping between Agron's knees and wrapping his arms over his shoulders. It puts him at an unusual height advantage, one that Nasir uses to his benefit to tilt Agron's head back. 

"You can't control everything, Agron." Nasir begins, coaxing his fingers over the damp hair at Agron's temple. "Nemetes has always been a drunk. He's a piece of shit. You know that. People are pigs. Chadara works at a bar. At least she works for a boss that will stick up for her." 

Cupping Agron's jaw, Nasir holds him still and kisses him. It starts with a gentle press, their lips aligned and fleeting, before Nasir tilts his head. It's muscle memory then, opening up and letting tongues tentatively touch between them. Agron tastes like bitter fruit, thick on his tongue, and Nasir laps at it before pulling back. 

"As for the Pirates." He murmurs, still close with warm breath on Agron's face. "Spartacus knows what he's doing. He wouldn't have you guys going with such a small crew if he thought there was a bigger threat. You'll go. Spartacus will do this thing, say the magic words that makes everyone do what he wants, and then you'll come home. To me. Waiting for you, right here. Always." 

"You're very sure of all this." Agron trails his hands up Nasir's back, holds him close. 

"I trust Spartacus. He's never taken a risk that he didn't already have a plan for any possible outcome." Nasir reassures, thumb brushing over Agron's jaw. "It's annoying, sure, but sometimes we have to do dangerous things for the greater good. You know that. You've said the exact same words to me."

Sighing deeply, Agron flutters his eyes shut, leaning his forehead down and into Nasir's chest. "I just keep imagining all the ways this could go wrong. And all the shit that could happen if it goes right. And I don't know what to do about the 'what if'. I feel like I'm going to fucking choke on it."

"You can't control the what ifs, baby." Nasir caresses his hands through Agron's hair, down onto his neck. "No one can. I mean, what if in the next minute we had a secret gas leak and we get blown up? How would you have prepared for that? You couldn't have." 

Cupping Agron's face again, Nasir guides him up, meeting his eyes. "All we can do is prepare for what we can, set up what we can, and move forward. You put so much pressure on yourself. And when it comes down to it, no amount of preparation or planning is going to change what will happen. It's going to regardless of your involvement in it."

Agron can see the logic in it. Nasir has a point. Even if he had gone through every scenario, every possible idea that could occur, there is always going to be a variable that he didn’t' think of - something that could happen that there is no way of knowing. All he can really do is prepare as much as possible, and then move forward - wait and see. Even if it burns through him, he has to learn to let things go. 

"Come on. Lay down." Nasir pulls back, reaching over to the beside table. "On your stomach."

"What? Why?" Towel clenched at his waist, Agron is already moving even without the reason. 

"Because you're still thinking too much and your back is a mess of knots." Nasir picks up the bottle of lotion on his side. "You need to relax or you're not going to be any good tonight. You can't think straight when you're this tense."

"I never think straight." Agron mutters to himself, draining the rest of his glass and setting it on his nightstand, before climbing up on the bed again. Head buried in the pillows, Agron keeps the towel around his hips as he reaches up with his arms, pressing them on either side of his face. Here, he can hide his face away, inhales deeply into the pillowcase and try to regulate his breathing. He can feel the bed dip behind him, the tell-tale sign of Nasir moving and then slowly straddling the back of his thighs. 

"Just take a deep breath and try to relax." Nasir soothes, voice soft and prompting. "Imagine somewhere nice. Like the ocean. Or some fountain of beer."

Agron tries to listen, tries to follow instructions and let his mind wander. Yet, whenever he imagines a different place, he keeps getting drawn back here. The lotion is the one Nasir rubs on his arms before they go to bed, smells like peppermint and eucalyptus. The air rumbles on, the cool air drifting up from the floor, drifting over them as Nasir sets to work on Agron's shoulders. He's got strong hands, formed from hours of typing and using precision tools to design technology. Nasir uses each of his fingertips, his palms warm, as he slowly rotates against the tough knots along Agron's shoulders and into his neck. 

It must be the warmth from the alcohol, the lotion mixing with the scent lingering in Nasir's hair. Agron feels his eyes fluttering closed, taking a long, deep breath. Nasir moves down over his spine, rubbing in long strokes that have goosebumps breaking out over Agron's arms, shivering from the catch and release of tense muscles. He had been skeptical only moments ago, but now, Agron can do nothing but let out a warbling groan, leaning into Nasir's strong touch. 

"That's it." Nasir soothes, hands drifting over Agron's waist, thumbs digging into his hips. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."

The reversal of roles throws Agron a little. He's been where Nasir has been, helped rub Nasir's back, massage out kinks and knots from Nasir hunching over a desk or a laptop. He's coaxed him from baths to beds to pleasure with his hands, taking care of Nasir, making sure he feels good and safe. It’s how Agron shows his affection, his love, by actions and slow hands and curling Nasir close to him. Now, Agron is the one laying prone, letting Nasir work along his ribs, weight pressing into his legs. 

It's between one pass over Agron's shoulders to his waist that he realizes he's hard, cock straining up against his stomach, trapped in the towel against the mattress. If it had been anyone else, a professional maybe, Agron might have been embarrassed, but how could this not turn him on? Nasir is all around him, against him, on him, his scent invading Agron's nose. The pleasure makes his body tremble, too relaxed to tense up but the need is pressing. 

"Roll over." Nasir murmurs, ghosting his lips against the shell of Agron's ear. 

He should be concerned about Duro being just downstairs, about dinner, about tonight, but all Agron can do is comply. He presses his head deeply into the pillows, staring up at Nasir through hazy eyes as he resettles, sitting astride Agron's thighs again. The pop of the lotion gives Agron pause, his arms spread down to touch the very edge of Nasir's knees. 

The setting sun is the only light in the room, turning it half dark and shadowed as Nasir meets Agron's eyes, leaning in to smear his hands over Agron's chest. The lotion is still cool to the touch, tingling slightly in the air conditioning, Agron's nipples going hard. Nasir seems to notice, making sure to rub his fingertips over them, a brush that sends twinging heat up through Agron's chest. 

"Fuck," Agron lets slip on a gasp, watching Nasir's palms slide against his abs. The towel has come loose in his shifting, no longer knotted. It rustles when Agron's cock twitches, standing proud in a long line against the terry cloth. 

Leaning back on his heels, Nasir rubs the remaining lotion into his own hands, leveling Agron with a careful look. His pupils are blown wide, cheeks pink, but with a simple sort of determination that makes Agron arch his back a little. He's too relaxed, bone weary and thrumming, to do little more than watch as Nasir's fingers reach for the cloth. 

He peels the towel away carefully, slowly dropping the hem to either side, gaze cast down and watching. Agron can't tear his eyes away from the way Nasir's mouth parts, tongue slipping out to wet his bottom lip. There is nothing rushed about it, savoring each droplet of water still clinging to Agron’s hips, dotted along his pelvis to his cock. It's like watching it in slow motion as Nasir leans down, eyelashes fluttering closed the moment he kisses the crown of it.

It's almost delicate, the curl of his tongue along the ridge. Agron inhales sharp, holding his breath, enraptured as Nasir flickers his gaze up, staring up at him. He knows how to make Agron feel it, has done this a thousand times. Agron is left mesmerized as Nasir's mouth rounds on him again, trailing slow, open kisses down the side of his cock. He’s isn't even sure he can move, strung out and relaxed, watching the tip of his cock pearl up. Nasir doesn't drop his gaze, keeps staring even as he laps away the fluid, wrapping his lips slowly around him. 

Forcing his arms up, Agron gathers Nasir's loose hair up into a bunch at the back of his head. It's messy and tangled around his knuckles, but it gives Agron a clear view to where Nasir's stacked hands brush against his mouth when he lowers his head, pumping Agron's cock into his mouth. 

"Shit, babe, fuck." Agron groans low in his throat, helpless. His thighs are trembling, nerves fried, as Nasir grins up at him, even with his mouth full. 

It only spurs him on, Nasir keeping one hand at the base and another on Agron's hip, bobbing his head quickly. There is just too much, overwhelming with how thick Agron is, long enough that Nasir struggles to try and deep throat him. He's humming some quick little medley, something Agron should know or at least sounds familiar, but he's too distracted to really focus. It's overwhelming, Nasir's dark eyes, his wet, sinful mouth, the way he swallows with Agron's cock against the back of his throat. 

Slipping his grip up, Nasir caresses his fingertips over Agron's happy trail, leans down to nuzzle against his balls. It's ticking every box, Agron feeling hot and feverish and so fucking turned on as Nasir sets his teeth against his thigh. This isn't something they usually do - not like this - but Agron is helpless to not fall under it. He moans sharply, trying to warn him, when Nasir's mouth moves back to his cock, sucking hard enough his cheeks hallow. 

It's a blur of movement, his hair a tangled mess in Agron's hands, his dark gaze unwavering as he traces his tongue along Agron's cock. Nasir doesn’t take it slow this time, works his mouth up and down, fingers playing with the base. He’s done this enough times to know what makes Agron tick, what brings him _right there_. There is no way Agron can last like this, chest heaving from his gasped breaths, head tossed back against the pillows in ecstasy as he suddenly comes. 

Nasir takes it all, savors and swallows, laps the spilled droplets from his bottom lip when he lets Agron's softening cock slip from his mouth. His hair is a mess, lips bruised when he rubs the side of his hand against, leaning back on his heels, and Agron has never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Nasir is breath taking, awe inspiring, higher plane type of being that makes everything else pale in comparison. He doesn't let him get far, reaching out with desperate hands, pulls Nasir down on top of him, kisses him hard and open, tasting himself on Nasir's tongue. 

"Fuck, come on." Agron mutters, body still numb and shaking, even as he hooks an arm around Nasir and flips them, pinning him down to the bed. 

"Wait, wait," Nasir gasps desperately, catching Agron's fingers on his waistband. He’s trying to work his hands over Nasir’s button flys, tugging at the denim. "We can't." 

"What? What's wrong?" Agron leans up on his elbow, tracking over Nasir's flushed face. “I wanna get you off too.”

"It's okay. I’m okay." Reaching up, Nasir cups Agron's face, leaning up to peck his lips. "It was just for you. Just want to make you feel good. Wanted to take care of you."

“You’re hard.” Agron glances down to where Nasir’s jeans are tented obscenely, his cock a clear outline against the zipper. 

“Getting you off turns me on.” Nasir admits, sheepishly grinning. “But it’s okay. We can save it for later. When you come home, yeah?”

“Are you sure?” Agron is surprised, lets his fingers trace a slow line along Nasir’s jaw.

“Yeah.” Reassuring, Nasir leans in again and kisses him, lets it linger slow and open. “I really just wanted to make you feel better.”

“It worked.”

Agron slips his hand down Nasir's chest, feels his rapidly beating heart. The t-shirt he’s wearing is half twisted around him, arched high on his stomach and exposing the curl of ink on his hip. Agron knows what’s tattooed there, slips his fingers over it. Nasir doesn’t let him get further than his waist though, slips his fingers through Agron’s with a small smile, reassuring. If he can’t get him off, Agron wants to taste him, leans in again to lap into Nasir's mouth, slips over to curl against his side. 

"Fuck, I feel boneless." Agron groans, hooks an arm around Nasir's waist and presses his face into the curve of his neck. "I swear to fucking god you're magic."

Giggling, Nasir turns and kisses his forehead. "You know you're going to have to let me get up, right?"

"Nope. I've got like five more hours before I need to be out of the house." Agron settles deeper into the blankets, content to rest right here. 

"I've got dinner going." Nasir murmurs, nuzzling his nose against Agron's. "Duro's downstairs. He's staying for food, too. "

"What are you making?" Agron cracks an eye open. 

"Aloo matar," Nasir answers, coaxing his fingers down Agron's jaw. "And those samosas you like so much."

"Tempting." Agron grumbles, pressing his naked thigh against Nasir's. "Staying in bed with you is more tempting though."

"We can come back to bed after we eat and kick your brother out." 

Wiggling hard, Nasir manages to slide out from under Agron's heavy arm, rolling onto his feet. There is no salvaging his clothes, wrinkled and disheveled from being half bent over. Duro probably won't notice that too much. His bruised mouth and sweaty face is a whole other story. He has to stand on his toes to see his reflection in the mirror over the dresser, finger combing back his curls and trying to make some semblance of his hair. 

Forcing himself up, Agron throws his legs over the side of the bed and watches him. He knows he needs to get dressed, should probably text Spartacus and check in, but if he can linger here - shut up from the rest of the world with the person he loves the most, then he will.

"Hey." Reaching out, Agron snags one of Nasir's hands in his own, stopping him from going to the door. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Nasir smiles warmly at him, letting himself be dragged back. The kiss this time is slow, lingering and simpering on the edge of too much. A bang from downstairs interrupts them, Duro's frantic swearing in German filtering up from the kitchen. "Don't take too long coming down, yeah?"

"Yeah." Agron agrees, lets Nasir pull away, that small smile just for him lingering as Nasir lets himself out of the bedroom. Agron will never get over the flutter in his chest. 

\- - - 

It's just past midnight, not too many people on the road to see the large Jeep make its way through the shuttered neighborhood. The streetlights flicker past the windows, catches of gold and orange through the tinted glass. It gleams over the leather seats of the Jeep, of the chrome finishes and buttons crafted into the doors. The radio isn't on, only the warm night air filtering through the moon roof cut into the top above the front seats. 

Agron flicks his fingers over the handle, the blinker clicking on the dash as he slides over into the turning lane. When he crosses this intersection, he'll no longer be in the Southend, the Rebel territory melting away into Pirate. There is no visible marker, not this far out yet, but a feeling – a sense of wrongness that seems to permeate the car. 

Spartacus is sitting in the passenger seat, fingers moving over his phone, the screen illuminated a dull blue in the darkness. From this angle, Agron can only make out that he's texting Mira. Whatever she said takes up a huge chunk of the screen, Spartacus tapping rapidly. 

"She worried?" He asks softly so as not to alert the men in the back. 

"Always." Spartacus sighs deeply, tucking the device back into his pocket. It buzzes again but he doesn't reach for it. 

Though technically the vehicle belongs to him, Agron had insisted on driving. There are too many factors at play here, and putting Spartacus in the driver’s seat is a risk that Agron isn’t willing to take. In case of a shoot out, most bullets would be aimed towards the driver - keeping Spartacus safer. 

"She's always worried. As she should be," Spartacus sighs, rolling his head against the headrest to look at his best friend. "Was Nasir?"

"He told me to trust you." Agron answers simply, his fingers slipping over the steering wheel. 

"And do you?" Voice soft, there is almost something earnest about the way he says it. 

"All my life." Agron's eyes meet his in the dull glow of a lamp outside, turned electric in the sheen. "Doesn't mean I trust Heracleo. Or that I think this is a good idea."

"Understandable." Spartacus nods, turning his face back towards the front. "I don't know if I trust him either."

"Then why-" Agron goes to argue, cut off as Spartacus continues on. 

"Because we need him. This plan won't work unless Heracleo knows part of it. And unfortunately, that means we have to play nice. Make allies. Becoming more than we were before." Spartacus explains. "I'm not going to hand us over to him though. I know who we're dealing with."

“We’re giving them so much for so fucking little.” Agron hisses, trying to keep his tone in check. “You’re asking them to turn a blind eye to us, meanwhile, you’re offering up thousands of dollars in technology that they could turn around and use on us. It’s not our weapon anymore. It’s theirs.”

“Nasir knows what he’s doing. He’s barely giving them anything,” Spartacus reassures. “He’s basically teaching them how to funnel money from tapped in bank accounts, how to wipe tapes when they empty a warehouse. That’s it. And in return, Heracleo has to agree to not stand in our way.”

“It’s too much of a risk.” Agron merges the jeep onto the freeway, glancing in the rearview mirror. 

Turning again, Spartacus cranes his entire body until he’s facing Agron, mouth set in a grim line. It’s getting darker in the car the further they get away from the neighborhoods, the street lamps dim or black outed, no one on the road. Still, Spartacus doesn’t relent with his stare. 

“Agron, I swore to you that I would never put your family at risk unless I was one hundred percent sure we had the upper hand.” Spartacus says, voice deep and sure. “I promised you the day that you told me things were getting serious, that I would protect him no matter what. I haven’t broken that promise.”

"You know I've got your back," Agron reaches over, grips Spartacus' hand in a tight squeeze. "No matter what, you don't stand alone."

"I know." Spartacus gives him a small smile, reassured. 

He directs him over the freeway and into a deserted industrial park, rows of low, dark office buildings spread out with dying patches of grass between. Half of them look abandoned, their metal walls left to crumple and decay over time. They're closer to the shore here, the sharp scent of salt in the air, probably just beyond the low cropping of trees to the east. 

Agron directs the SU V along a long stretch of abandoned road, not even a blown out pick up left to decay in a ditch. There are signs here now, a spray painted wave on the side of a dilapidated lean to - the logo of the Pirates. It would seem out of place if not for the other graffiti scrawled around it, names and slurred images, a bleeding eagle. 

"Is this thing armored?" Gannicus marvels in the backseat, his fingers hovering over the tinted window before giving it an experimental tap. 

"Bullet proof glass, titanium plates to reinforce the walls, a wiring system that lets me unlock it with finger recognition handles," Spartacus recites, quickly slipping a knife from the glove box into his boot. "A grenade launcher built into the front headlights."

"Holy shit." Duro breathes, glancing around. "It's like we're in the president's car or something."

"Or something?" Gannicus scoffs. "For fuck's sake, Bruce Wayne is jealous of this thing."

"It helps when I have the best mechanic slash tech guy this side of the river." Spartacus sends a knowing grin towards Agron. 

"Forget the river." Agron purses his mouth into a frown. "You know he does shit for you that NASA hasn't even thought of yet." 

Over the past week, Agron has seen Nasir slumped over the table in the basement, the smell of soldering and melting parts filling up the cement room. Agron couldn't really tell all of what Nasir was building, only was really concerned about coaxing him out of his terrible posture, sometimes carrying him upstairs just long enough to see Nasir's face in proper lighting and maybe give him food, before watching him slip back down. This must of been what the pay off was - a fucking armored tank for Spartacus. 

The warehouse they're headed to has on large door at the front, the ceiling low with visible rust along the air vents and take ins. Agron pulls the Jeep up a few feet from the open garage door, slipping the gear into park. There is a large Cadillac parked on the right side of the building, half in the shadows, so old it's basically a boat on wheels. Another car, a Pinto painted lime green, sits adjacent. This must be the Pirates, already waiting for them inside. 

"When we go in, Gannicus, I want you, Barca, Donar, and Duro at the back." Spartacus instructs, slipping his seat belt off. "Crixus and Agron will sit with me at the table." 

"Got it." Gannicus' voice is accompanied by the clicking of a gun magazine sliding into place. 

"No one talk. I don't want to give them any reason to feel threatened." Spartacus glances around the car. "It's a friendly conversation, that's all, got it?"

He purposefully meets Agron's gaze, emphasizing with a slow raise of his brow. Resigned, Agron can do little else than nod along in agreement. No matter what, he's going to follow Spartacus. It's too late to come up with a different plan. 

Crixus' Tahoe pulls in a few yards away, the headlights off and the tires creaking on the loose asphalt. The men step quickly out of it, two large duffle bags pulled from the trunk. One, Crixus keeps and the other he hands to Agron with a sharp nod. They take the lead together, entering the dimly lit warehouse, one hand on the bag and the other on the weapon at their hip. 

"Spartacus! My brother!" 

A voice booms in empty space. From the shadow, a man steps, his arms spread wide. His long wavy hair is held back from his face with a bandana, loose button up left open to reveal a collection of large necklaces, the pendants littered with jewels. His face pulls back in a wild, untamed sort of grin, a gold tooth glinted in the light. Heracleo looks like he’s barely returned from a Caribbean vacation, not here to discuss an alliance with one of the most powerful gangs in the area. 

"Heracleo." Spartacus greets warmly, stepping forward to stand between his second in commands. It doesn't seem to be good enough though as Heracleo suddenly reaches between Crixus and Agron to pull the Rebel leader into a warm embrace. 

"All this fan fair," Heracleo chides, waving his hand. "You come in, guns blazing, so formal. Come, come. Let us talk." 

He hasn't come alone either, men melting out of the shadows and into the dim fluorescents. Heracleo matches the Rebel formation, two men flanking his sides as well. To his left, a bald man with large plugs in his ears stands to one side, stoic and unflinching at his boss' antics. It doesn’t go unnoticed that a large knife, basically a machete, sticks out of his belt like a warning. It seems overly ambitious considering each Rebel has at least four glocks on him. 

Leading the way to the table on Heracleo's right, another man moves his gaze over the bunch, smirking a little at Agron's deep scowl. He seems unimpressed by all of them, his braids held back in a colorful wrap, tank top blown out on the sides to reveal more of his dark skin, the curl of ink all over. He seems to be the smarter of the two, as glancing over his loose pants, Agron can count at least two guns tucked away. Maybe it's the gloating look on his face, the ego dripping as he swaggers before them, that puts Agron's nerves on edge.

They sit down, another man there to pour Heracleo and then Spartacus large servings of wine in matching plastic goblets. It's deadly quiet in the warehouse, not even the wind bothering to make itself known. Heracleo doesn't let it stay that way for long though. 

"What shall we toast? To success? To a legendary union of our two people?" Heracleo asks, raising his glass. 

"To new friendships," Spartacus raises his own, "Drafted on the idea of joint success?"

"Ah! Yes! They told me you had a way with words," Heracleo taps his cup against Spartacus, taking a long sip. It's a gesture of honesty on his part, taking a drink from the same bottle as Spartacus, proving there is nothing to fear about the wine. 

Spartacus follows with a heavy drink of his own, setting the glass down with a soft click. He needs to keep a level head during this, only showing enough hospitality to make it through the formalities. 

"Come now, Rebel King." Wine empty, Heracleo folds his hands together. "You have never given thought to my operation before. Why suddenly trying to become friends?"

"I believe," Spartacus begins, voice clear and calm, "we had operated parallel to one another. You run your business, make your money, take care of your family - just as I have. We are not so different. I had no reason to have issue with you."

"Hmm." Heracleo tilts his head, considering.

"A few skirmishes here and there, fighting over street corners, but you cannot say I am your enemy, Heracleo." Spartacus continues. Across the table, the darker skinned Pirate meets Heracleo's gaze, mouth twisted down in consideration. 

"What you say is true." Heracleo finally secedes, waving a hand, "So, why are you here then? If we can coexist then there is something you want to tip the balance."

"The Romans." Spartacus states bluntly, leaning back in his chair. "I want to know what they offered you to build their operation on Pirate land."

"You want to see my vaults as well?" Heracleo suddenly laughs, tilting his head back so the sound echoes around the warehouse. "If a man tells you all of his secrets, you are either his wife or his priest. Which are you, Spartacus?"

"I am your friend," Spartacus replies ruefully. "As you just said."

"What is it that you want? To know that Crassus came to me and offered me eight million dollars for land worth a fraction of its cost? That I allowed it because my people are starving? That money is really all we're after, not power or glory like the Roman shits." Heracleo's tone suddenly shifts, words sharp and biting. "Are you here to tell me I've made some grave mistake? Some error to protect what is mine by lending it out?"

"No." Spartacus shakes his head. "I'm not. I can understand your reasoning. I would do the same. What is my empire without my people filling it? Loyalty is important but so is feeding hungry mouths."

Heracleo shares a look with his companions, his gaze careful and assessing. He's trying to figure out the angle, to get steps ahead of whatever this is, but it's a useless attempt. Spartacus is more clever than all of them. 

"I have no doubt that Crassus paid a hefty price for the use of your land." Spartacus continues, voice coaxing and slow. "But it is the tip of the iceberg. How long until he comes back asking for more? The building next door? A block over? Your sale routes? Control on your bay? Until he doesn't ask anymore. Until he takes and takes and burns and pillage all you've worked for because you let him come in your door and now he's kick your out of your house?"

"So, what are you purposing?" Heracleo crosses his arms slowly over his chest. "How is sitting here with you any different?"

"Because I don't want your territory." Spartacus answers. " You turn a blind eye and let my men do what I will with their new club. No harm will fall on Pirate lands. And in return, I'll give you what you really want - protection."

"Ah." Heracleo hums, eyes narrowing in consideration. 

The East Side has never been a source of wealth or prosperity. Heracleo had collected scraps, pulled his empire from the fucking dirt, raided and stole everything he’s ever worked for. His gang is one of his own making, more of a brotherhood than anything else. He can recognize that in the Rebels. He knows Spartacus’ men love him, are loyal to the point of death for him. The Romans, on the other hand, are all false promises and sharp, wicked grins. 

“Check your phone.” Spartacus motions a hand towards him. “All three of you.”

Glancing at once another, the Pirates slowly pull their phones from deep inside their pockets. Confusion pulls their features into twisted masks, the darker skinned one mouthing expletives as he glances over his screen. Heracleo is the first to speak. 

“What the fuck is this?” He turns his phone around, showing where a small video is rolling in the center, the image clear and crisp of their table. It looks to be pointed just above them, an aerial shot of their meeting in real time. 

“Security footage,” Spartacus replies, nonchalantly raising his shoulder. 

“There are no security cameras in this warehouse.” Heracleo repeats slowly, turning the phone back to himself. 

“There wasn’t yesterday before you sent over the address.” Spartacus explains, leaning back in his chair. 

“You’re tell me he rigged our own warehouse and managed to hack all three of our phones without anyone noticing? What the fuck?” The guy with the huge earrings interrupts, waving his phone at Spartacus. “Where is he?”

“Not here.” Agron answers sharply, feeling Spartacus’ fingers brush his thigh in warning. 

“He’s good.” Heracleo muses, glancing down at his phone again in awe. “Really good.”

“He’s the best.” Spartacus replies, leaning forward on the table. “And that’s barely a fraction of what he could design for you. I’m willing to give my best tool to you, to teach you and make you stronger. I’ve never seen a firewall or a security system he couldn’t get into. It could make you millions.”

Agron’s nails bite into his palm, gripping as tight as possible until his knuckles ache. He can’t believe the words coming out of Spartacus’ mouth. Agron had known this was part of the bargain, had known that Nasir already agreed to give them technology and teach them how to use it, but he hadn’t thought it would be phrased like this. A poor choice of words, maybe, but Agron has never known Spartacus not to be silver tongued. 

“How can I deny such a plentiful offer?” Heracleo suddenly laughs again, throwing his hands up. “You strike an easy bargain, Rebel King.”

Exhaling sharply, Spartacus grins at the acceptance, leaning back in his chair. “I have no desire to complicate things. Only suggest a situation that is beneficial to us both.”

“And I have no desire to get caught up in Rebel and Roman fighting,” Heracleo pours himself another glass of wine, sipping from it heavily. “What they build on land they bought is their own business, and if you find yourself within their walls, that is yours. My men will not stop you on the street.”

“Excellent,” Spartacus nods in agreement. 

“And in return, I would see Castus safely to you and your man.” Heracleo motions to the smirking Pirate, the one who hasn’t looked impressed, only amused, the whole time. “With promise of protection and insight.”

“He is our guest.” Spartacus tilts his head in a nod. “I will see to it myself.”

Draining his cup, Heracleo pushes back from the table, staggering to his feet. His face is flushed, glowing deep red in the dim light. It makes him look half crazed, half drunk as he leans forward, sticking out his hand. Spartacus is quick to join him, shaking their palms together in one quick, downward movement. 

“Now!” Heracleo’s voice booms in the large room. “We drink?”

“It is late.” Spartacus bows his head, careful to keep his voice light and teasing. “Let me host party in the honor of our alliance? Surely we should have more than a dozen men in a warehouse?”

“I have heard that you are plentiful in beautiful women,” Heracleo elbows Castus’ side with a knowing smirk, “and men.”

“A party then, hosted in Rebel territory, safe like we are now.” Spartacus grins wide, conceding. “With enough wine to forget any past disgruntlement between us.”

“Ah, brother,” Heracleo matches Spartacus’ joyful expression. “I feel we are going to be very good friends indeed.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, I want to thank all of you for reading my fic. It means so much to me when I see kudos and comments - especially ones that are long and rambly. They're wonderful and really inspire me to keep writing - even seven years later. 
> 
> As for this chapter, I want to address something that has been heavy on my brain for the past couple of weeks. This is not for performance or to step in front of anyone - just something that my audience needs to hear. 
> 
> As some of you guessed, obviously we were headed to the infamous Castus/Agron scene. If you've seen the show, you know what happens. But as I was starting to write this chapter, it occurred to me that this isn't necessary to my fic. And I wasn't really comfortable having a white man assault a man of color, especially when he's surrounded by other white men (Lugo, Spartacus, etc.) - regardless of why he did it. So, this chapter is a little different - but sometimes different is better. 
> 
> As a white woman, it is my responsibility to educate myself and make myself more aware of racism and prejudices in my life and my work. Although I wouldn't be intending for it to come out this way, I would still writing a white man assaulting a 'villianous black man'. I don't want to help perpetuate this negative stereotype. I want to be better. I **have** to be better. And if you're white, you need to be better too. 
> 
> I encourage all of you to donate as much as you can to the [ Black Lives Matter campaign ](https://secure.actblue.com/donate/ms_blm_homepage_2019). I posted on tumblr and I will also post here. For everyone who sends me proof of their donation - no matter how much - I will write them ANY PROMPT they want. So $5 gets you 500 words, and so on. You can send me proof as a comment here or on a message on tumblr. 
> 
> I love this fandom. I love all of you. Please stay safe and know that I stand with you.

"Okay, so when you pull them out, it helps if you match them up. That way when you have to put them back in, you know where they go." Nasir makes a point of raising the wires up, measuring them against each other. "See what I'm saying?"

"Uh huh, totally." Snapping his gum, Pietros nods along. He's half perched on the edge of a work table, one foot swinging as his thumb flicks over his phone. 

"So," Nasir tries a little louder, shaking the two cords together. "If you know that this is wire one and it goes to plug one, then set them up where...Are you even fucking listening to me?"

"Uh huh. Absolutely." Furrowing, Pietros taps something. "Makes total sense."

"Pietros! For fuck's sake!" Nasir shouts, tossing the cords down onto the Volvo's engine. "I'm not explaining this for my own fucking enjoyment!"

"Sorry! Sorry! I'm listening. I swear." Pietros looks up, having the decency to look at least a little guilty with a pouting lip and wide eyes. "Go through it again. I want to know about the plugs. And the wires. And the sparks?"

"No. Obviously whatever is happening on your phone is more interesting than me trying to teach you shit!" Nasir wipes his hands roughly on a paper towel. "Something, by the way, you asked me to teach you!"

Pietros doesn't try to move out of the way as Nasir stomps to him, tilts his wrist even so Nasir doesn't have to get up on his toes to see. He's on Instagram, scrolling slowly through picture after picture, Barca's username tagged to each one. It's mostly boring pictures of birds or plants or random warehouse shit, though there is a cute group photo of him with Crixus, Auctus, and Rhaskos in someone's backyard. 

"What were you saying?" Biting his bottom lip, Pietros pushes the button on his phone to turn off the screen. "I’m listening. I swear. I want to know." 

"Well, I was trying to show you how to change spark plugs, but you seem a little too busy stalking your boyfriend." Nasir raising an unimpressed eyebrow, hands on his hips. 

"I'm not stalking him. I just..." Pietros trails off, sighing deeply. "I'm just investigating."

"Barca's Instagram?" Nasir doesn't relent on his tone. "Why?"

"Ooo!" Saxa swings herself out from under the Town and Country she was working on, her hands covered in oil. "Are we stalking our exs?"

"Barca isn't his ex." Nasir shakes his head at her, then looks up startled. "Right?" 

"No! Of course not." Pietros exclaims loudly, then quiets. "I mean, I don't think so?"

"You don’t think so, Pietros?" Nasir leans against the table, head cocked to the side. He has to remember how much younger Pietros is than him, barely turned twenty in July. There is still a naivety, an innocence around him. "What are you talking about? You're not making any sense."

"If I tell you, you have to promise you guys won't go all Giesler on me." Pietros pointedly looks between the pair, eyes widening. "At all. Like no screaming or throwing shit."

"What does that mean?" Saxa asks loudly. 

“No, I’m serious.” Pietros’ tone sobers, his hand outstretched. “Like, you can’t get all upset and try to run and do something about it. Nor can you tell anyone!”

"Well, I'm not a Giesler, so don’t worry about it." Nasir scoffs, rolling his eyes. The reaction of the other two instantly cut him off guard though, both Saxa and Pietros pausing to give him an eye roll and a shake of their head. 

"Practically." Pietros pops his gum again, glancing up and down Nasir.

"You've been dating my cousin for like six years. You guys host family dinner nights." Saxa squints her eyes down at Nasir, lip curling into a smirk. "You're wearing his shirt."

"Just face it." Pietros rubs his thumb across his fingertips, mouth pursed. "If you were a chick, you'd be like three kids in by now."

"Tiny Agron and Nasir's running around the neighborhood." Saxa agrees, nodding her head like she's spewing some wise knowledge. "Spending all your time barefoot in the kitchen, knocked up, cooking fucking spätzle on the stove."

"Oh! Okay!" Nasir interrupts loudly, throwing his hands up. "That's enough. Firstly, I'm insulted that you guys think that Agron wouldn't take my last name!" Pietros and Saxa share a look, both agreeing that would never happen. "And secondly, I don't want to talk about me and my relationship. I want to talk about _you_ and why you're scrolling through two years of Instagram posts!"

Pietros drops his head, hands going to the back of his neck. He knows he can tell them shit. They spend over fifty hours a week together. Saxa, Naevia, and Nasir are basically his best friends. He doesn't really know anyone else the way he knows them. Still, saying the words out loud feels like he's admitting to it - and that just hurts to much to bare. 

"I think Barca might be cheating on me." Pietros says the words around a deep sigh, shoulders slumped. 

"Cheating on you? With you?" Saxa leans against the hood of the Volvo, crossing her lean arms over her chest. 

"With Auctus." Glancing up through his bangs, Pietros winces at both Saxa and Nasir's sharp intake of breath. "But! I don't know for sure. I just have this feeling and I saw-"

Pietros stops, taking in a quick breath. He’s afraid to say it, afraid to admit the thing that has kept him up at night for nearly two weeks. He feels bad for suspecting. Feels bad for not trusting. Feels even worse if it’s all true. Everything would be so fucked up and where would that leave Pietros? Would he be out of the gang? Left alone on the street?

"What did you see?" Nasir asks gently, his arm sliding around Pietros’ waist. 

"Well, I came home like two days ago," Pietros begins, halting to take deep breaths, "And like, someone always seems to be around lately. So, it's not like it was a big deal or anything, but when I came in, Barca and Auctus were just sitting on the couch together."

"Scandalous." Saxa comments, flippantly nodding her head. 

"No, they were just like sitting," Pietros emphasizes with a raise to his eyebrows. "They were in the middle of the couch, shoulders pressed together, laughing. And then the minute I walk in, they just stopped. And Barca was all like "Oh hi babe. So glad you're home _babe_."

"Okay but Pietros," Nasir tries helpfully, reaching out to rub his shoulder. "Barca and Auctus are friends. They stayed friends even after they broke up. Maybe they just stopped talking when you came in because Barca wanted to greet you at the door?"

"We have a large couch." Pietros mutters, gazing down at his hands. "They didn't have to sit that close. And this isn't the first time I've caught them like that."

Saxa and Nasir share a careful look. There is a lot of reasons why Barca and Auctus could be acting like this. Nasir isn't wrong in saying that they are friends. But, if for some reason, they had fallen back into old habits - it wouldn't just be bad for them and Pietros. Duro also is involved. And by extension - Agron. 

"Have you tried talking to him about it?" Saxa asks, rubbing a comforting hand down Pietros arm to lace their fingers. "Tell him how you feel?"

"No." Craning his head back, Pietros rubs at his eyes roughly. "Like, what the fuck am I supposed to say? Hey baby, are you fucking your ex on my _tax return couch_?"

"Yeah, maybe?" Saxa ignores Nasir's sharp look. "I mean, don't you think it'd be better to pull the band aid off? If he is cheating on you, I'll beat his ass and then we can go on a bender."

"Saxa!" Nasir hisses, elbowing her side roughly. 

"What? I'm being supportive!" Saxa shrugs hard, pointing her hand between the two men. 

"Maybe," Pietros mutters, his fingers trailing down to grip the back of his neck. "I mean, I had an idea. But I need help."

"What is it?" Nasir prompts. He doesn't want to see his friend suffer, especially not in a situation that will likely cause drama and hurt to a lot of people. 

"You'll help me?" Pietros glances down at him, a small smile pulling up at the corners of his mouth. Nasir nods earnestly. He just wants to help. 

"Okay! Well, I was thinking," Pietros' eyes light up, reaching out his free hand to grip Nasir's shoulder. "We have that party Saturday, right? With the Pirates?"

"Yeah, at the safe house on 4th." Nasir agrees slowly, not sure where this is going. "Why?"

"So, I was thinking, we drink at these things, right? Like heavily?" Both Saxa and Nasir nod, if not hesitantly, as Pietros continues. "Enough to make bad choices?"

"Oh, Pietros, I don't think hooking up with-" Nasir starts, only to be cut off by Pietros quick shake of his head. 

"No. I was hoping, maybe, that you could talk to Agron." Pietros' grin is wide and hopeful, eyes huge. "I mean, him and Auctus kind of have the same build. If you got Agron to hit on Barca, I would know for certain if he was cheating on me."

Saxa's bark of laughter fills the shop, loud and boisterous. She tosses her head back in a wave of blond hair, hands clapping gleefully in front of her, feet stomping. Nasir pointedly presses the tip of his boot into her foot, cutting her off with a grimace of his own. 

“You want my boyfriend to hit on your boyfriend?” Nasir asks, disjointed and slow, as he raises an eyebrow. “At a party, full of all of our friends? And the Pirates?”

“Yeah!” Pietros exclaims, nodding quickly. “Then, if Barca goes for it, I’ll know. And if he doesn’t, Agron can just say it was because he was drunk.”

“Except if Barca goes for it, Agron would also be cheating on me?” Nasir reasons, making sure to say the words slowly. 

“Oh.” Frowning, Pietros pauses for a moment, sticking out his bottom lip and pressing a finger to it. “Unless…we all did it? I mean, if Barca goes for it we could just like, all go for it?”

“Are you asking me to have my boyfriend hit on your boyfriend and then somehow we end up in a foursome?” Nasir’s eyebrows raise nearly to his hairline now, mouth gaping. “Again, at a party where all of our friends will be? _And the Pirates?_ ”

“How is he cheating on you then if you’re there for the foursome?” Saxa asks, her mouth stretched wide on a bewildered grin. 

“True.” Pietros kicks his foot absentmindedly at the concrete. “But like, what if Agron just hit on him but like, gauged Barca’s reaction? Like, we could make a scale and then if Barca took it too far, I would know.”

Pietros reaches behind him, grabbing a grimy pad of paper off one of the work stations, a pen quickly following. He writes two columns down the front, one labeled good and one labeled bad. Crossing his legs, Pietros glances up at Nasir with expectant eyes. 

“I’ll let you go first. Just tell me what you’re not okay with Barca doing to Agron,” Pietros motions with his hand. “Like, are we drawing the line at dick touching? Because that seems excessive.”

Saxa, having recovered from laughing and wiping at her watering eyes, puts a hand up to Nasir’s comment, stepping in. Nasir, for all his kind words and friendship, is starting to turn red across the bridge of his nose. As much as he likes to play as the innocent one, all doe-eyed and brilliant, Saxa has seen Nasir lay men flat on their back for looking at Agron. He’s not as vocal, but he’s just as jealous and deadly as his boyfriend. 

“Listen, _Vögelchen_ ,” Saxa coos, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “I think this is a great plan. Really flawless. There isn’t anything that could possibly go wrong with you sending my cousin to hit on your boyfriend in the middle of an alliance party.”

“ _Ich werde dich in deinem Schlaf töten_ ,” Nasir hisses viciously, arms crossed over his chest. 

“But,” Saxa says louder, licking over her lips. “Maybe there is another approach? Something a little less drastic? That also doesn’t include telling Agron you think Barca is cheating on you with Auctus?”

“Oh.” Pietros brow furrows, setting the pen down. “No, that makes sense. Probably isn’t a good idea anyway.” 

“Yeah, probably not.” Saxa agrees shortly after Nasir’s exhaled “Yeah.” 

“I mean, they’re both tops so,” Pietros flippantly tosses his hand. “Don’t want them to like, have to alpha male it out on the living room floor, ya know?”

“Oh yeah. Yeah. Definitely that’s what would happen.” Saxa agrees hurriedly. There is definitely a list of things that would happen if Pietros’ plan went through, though probably Barca and Agron fighting isn’t high on the list. 

“I don’t know what to do then. If he’s cheating on me…I just…I don’t know.” Pietros mutters helplessly, hands upturned on his lap. He has a thick bracelet wrapped around his wrist, ropes overlapping into little nuts and glass beads. It looks homemade, a little bird charm hidden at the clasp. 

“Pietros.” Nasir frowns, reaching out and brushing a hand over his back. “It’s going to be okay.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” He flinches back. “It’s not like you ever have to worry about shit like this.”

“I’m not trying-“ Nasir tries again, careful in his tone as Pietros snarls his lip. 

“Yeah well, you don’t have to try, do you? We’ve all heard the high school sweethearts story. We’re all _very well aware_ of your perfect relationship.” Pietros’ narrows his eyes at Nasir, already filling with tears. He’s lashing out, the words quick and sharp. “Tell me Nasir, have you ever had to wonder who was in your house when you weren’t there? In your bed? Did you ever look at Agron and wonder if he even wanted to be with you? If your fucking relationship was just a cover for his love of someone else?”

Nasir is quick to withdraw his hand from Pietros’, stepping back until he hits the fender on the car, turning to face the engine. The words are stinging, vicious in a way that makes Nasir’s stomach twist, suddenly nauseous with it. He had never meant to rub his relationship in anyone’s face. If anything, Nasir felt like him and Agron were pretty private. It wasn’t their fault that their friend group had been together since they were seventeen and were nosey. Nasir never wanted everyone to know everything. 

“Hey,” Saxa cuts in, her brow furrowed as she makes Pietros look at her. “That’s not fair. You can be upset and not hurt the people who are trying to help you.”

They fall into an awkward silence. Saxa stands between the men, her hands on her hips, face turned down into a deep frown. She looks more like a Giesler than ever before, her cheek slightly twitching from holding the expression. Pietros keeps his own head tilted back, hands rubbing roughly at his eyes again. His hair is held back by a bright red bandana, the fabric twisted a little at the temples. Nasir is one long curve, hunched back over the engine. He’s half-heartedly twisting a screw out with his fingers, just giving his hands something to do. 

“I didn’t mean it.” Pietros mutters, kicking his foot against the side of the work bench. “I didn’t, Nasir. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Nasir nods, his fingers spinning round and round. 

“I just don’t want everything to fall apart.” Pietros’ voice suddenly cracks, going hoarse at the end as he tries to reign in his tears. They flow freely though, big droplets that spill down his round cheeks, dropping onto the front of his loose t-shirt. 

“Hey, hey.” Both Saxa and Nasir are quick to his side, wrapping their arms around him. 

“Everything is going to be okay, alright?” Nasir pets a hand over his cheek, too short to rest his head anywhere except for Pietros’ bicep. “Seriously. We’ll think of something.”

“Yeah. Look, we have that party right?” Saxa offers, her hands up. “We’ll go to the mall this afternoon. Leave early. Find you the hottest outfit we can. Show Barca exactly what he’ll be missing if he fucks this up.”

“Really?” Pietros glances up, sniffling through his tears. “Do you think that will work?”

“If it doesn’t, I’ll chop is balls off and hang them around your rearview mirror like dice.” Saxa nudges Nasir with her elbow. “Nasir will help. You know he’s great with a switchblade.”

“I really am. Even Spartacus is kinda jealous.” Nasir swallows his own anger, trying for reassuring instead. 

“I don’t have a car though.” Pietros wipes at his eye. 

“We’ll make you a very nice balls necklace though. Best of fashion.” Saxa soothes, nodding her head quickly. “Make all the others jealous.”

After blowing his nose into a shop paper towel, Pietros smiles weakly at the pair. He feels exhausted, deflated by the heat and the emotions and the fucking pain of the not knowing. He doesn’t know what to do, feels like shit, but maybe this will work, yeah? Maybe it doesn’t have to all fall apart.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Saxa ruffles his hair with a quick hand. “Now let Nasir teach you some shit, okay? You’re useless out here.”

\- - - 

The television is turned up too loud; the tinkering and chirps looping through the music blaring from the speakers. It's background noise to the hoots and hollers of the men crowded around in the living room. Beer bottles clutter the low, coffee table, a bag of Cheetos half slumped into a Doritos one, the contents spilled out in a small mound of nacho cheese. The crumbs have stained the edge of an envelope there, some fake credit card application. 

Gannicus had tossed a gallon sized zip lock in the center of the table the minute he had come in, much to the cheers of the others. The weed is packed tight, bulging the sides of the bag out. It’s now half mixed with tobacco on a little tray, ground and then tapped out. The smoke hangs blearily in the space, thick and choking, trapped by the closed windows.

Slouched in his chair, Agron sips from the rim of his own bottle. He had agreed to this half from Duro's insistent nagging and half from his own petty need to have people around. If he's drunk enough, high enough, he doesn't have to think about what's about to happen. It's a Thursday night. He'll work all night Friday at the Wooden Nickle. And then Saturday will be here and Agron will have to stand and watch some Pirate shit fawn all over his boyfriend. 

Speaking of, the front door is swinging open with a jangle of keys, heavy footfalls in the entry way. Nasir's hair is up, a messy bun with spilled curls around his face, a pair of sunglasses perched on his head even with the sun set. He's got that exhausted slouch to him, shoulders rolled forward and back arched. There are a few full bags hanging from his fingertips as he struggles to kick his boots off near the door. 

Agron lets his gaze linger longer than he probably should, considering he's surrounded by people. It's hard not to get caught up, especially with his brain fuzzy with pot and beer, at the way Nasir makes him feel. It's everything - the way Agron's tank top hangs on him, eyes dark and wide as he turns to survey the room, mouth twisting and a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as he gets a full whiff of it. Agron wants nothing more than to pull him into his lap, to ease the tension out of him with slow kisses and shot gunning Gannicus' good stuff. 

Reaching over, Agron turns the volume down on the TV, making it to his feet. "Hey baby."

"Hey baby!" Boisterous voices chorus together, Lugo, Nemetes, and Duro echoing the sentiment. 

"Hey baby angel," Gannicus tilts his head back over the edge, giving Nasir a lopsided grin. “You look nice.”

"Shut the fuck up!" Agron snarls, smacking the first head he sees, only feeling partially bad because Donar hadn't said anything. 

"Hey?" Nasir says hesitantly, draws the word out. His view is blocked quickly by Agron, who reaches out with large hands to cup his face, tilting him up for a kiss. 

He tastes like Heineken, tongue slick and slow as it drags along Nasir's. Agron doesn't seem that concerned that their living room is full of guys, half of them turned away from the TV to watch them. It’s no secret that Agron nor Nasir are shy with PDA – always slow hands and careful glances. Nasir gets caught up in it, drops the bags to his feet, wraps his arms around Agron's waist. 

The end burns bright for a moment, suspended a few inches from Agron's palm. The coiling smoke is almost hazy, tobacco and marijuana mixed so the hit is heavy on Nasir's throat. He holds it long enough to feel it spread through him, eases the slouch out of his shoulders and back. Opening his mouth, Nasir lets the smoke roll out of his mouth, tongue curling up slightly to touch his top lip, brushing over Agron's fingers that still linger there. 

"Jesus fuck." Someone exclaims behind them, probably Gannicus by the slur and the awe. "Just one video. One video and you'd never have to work again. Cocky Boys would literally go out of business."

"You're not selling our sex tape, Gannicus." Nasir snarks, rolling his eyes. It breaks the spell a little, giving him the out to step back and grab up his bags. Agron doesn't bother turning around, twists his wrist to press the paper back between his lips. 

"Think of your mortgage, Nasir." Gannicus continues, flipping over so he can wrap his arms over the back of the couch. "Student loans. Vacations. Stacks on deck. Whatever you want, angel, you can get it."

"I'm really tired and I had a shit day." Nasir sighs deeply, pausing by the stairs to roll his head back and look at Agron. "Please don't make me carry a dead body tonight."

"Can't promise." Agron scowls over the edge of his beer bottle at Gannicus. It's a silent warning - one which the Celt has gotten many times. Half the time it's just teasing, playing, but there is always a darker side of Agron's mind that makes him think that Gannicus is being serious, that he wouldn't mind getting Nasir up against a flat surface - away from Agron's careful gaze. 

"I'll help." Lugo mutters, his fingers flying over the Play Station controller. On screen, Princess Peach does a quick turn, dodging a spinning shell. "You go rest, schatzi."

" _Thanks_."

Nasir does that slow drawl again, his hand resting on the banister. He's getting a second hand high from all the smoke in the air, watches Agron take another hit and blow a few intersecting circles up towards the ceiling. It lights him up a little, makes his stomach flutter to see all the summer tanned skin on Agron's throat. He wants to press his mouth there, taste his pulse. Still hunched over the back of the couch, Gannicus smirks up at Nasir, brow raised as he watches Nasir's body curve towards his boyfriend, gasping sharp. 

"What'd you get?" Agron's chin motions towards the bags now hanging loosely from Nasir's fingertips, coming to join him by the landing. 

"Hm?" Nasir asks, confused for a moment, distracted. "Oh. Um. Just some stuff. Some sweats. Pietros wanted something to wear for the party, so I took him to the mall."

"That so?" Agron keeps one hand back, the blunt trailing a thin trickle of smoke upwards. The other hand slips forward, inches between the edges of the paper bag. He can't see much, but what he does see is red and lace and Agron's gaze snaps up to Nasir's. 

"Not all of it is for the party." Nasir confesses, leaning in to steal the blunt from between Agron's fingertips, slipping it back between his lips. 

"You want me to come upstairs and give you my opinion?" Agron asks, gaze half lidded as he watches Nasir slowly inhale. It's deeper this time, Nasir smirking a little on the hold. Agron might be fucking gone, existing on another planet right now, but he knows what he's seeing, cock chubbing up from the way Nasir is looking at him. Lips pressed together, Nasir lets the smoke slip from his nose in thin tendrils, the haze lingering around his face. 

"Patience." Stepping up a stair, Nasir hooks his arms over Agron's shoulders, meets his gaze without having to crane his head back. "You have guests and I gotta work tonight. Spartacus wans me to see if I can hack the camera across the street from the club."

"It's almost eight." Agron frowns, brushes a hand against Nasir's temple, cups his jaw. "Did you even eat?"

"I'll just grab a granola bar or something," Nasir shrugs it off, takes the last hit, lets the smoke ease down into his lungs before he exhales in a slow rush. The cherry burns bright and then darkens, the paper burnt as Nasir drops it into Agron's mostly empty beer bottle. 

"No." Agron frowns, sets the bottle on the railing cap, reaching for Nasir. His fingers smooth along his waist, feeling him up, before reaching around and slipping his hands into Nasir's back pockets. The grip is slow, each fingertip taking its time to dig into Nasir's ass, denting the skin. "Go change and I'll make you a grilled cheese." 

"Mmm Ags," Nasir groans, rolling his hips into Agron's. "I really can't tell if it's your hands on my ass or you offering to make me food that is turning me on right now."

"Oh, it's definitely the food." Agron nods his head, grinning as he leans in. The kiss is slow, sweet as their lips settle against one another, Agron sucking a little on Nasir's bottom lip. It's too good, too perfect, the type of kiss that makes Agron's knees feel a little weak, Nasir moaning softly into his mouth.

"You gotta move unless you want me to piss on your floor." Donar, voice gruff and loud in their ears, elbows into Agron's side. It knocks them apart, skittering over against the far wall in surprise. Donar doesn't even bother to look sorry, sliding past and then pounding up the long staircase. 

"Asshole." Nasir hisses, his arms still over Agron's shoulder. “Watch were you’re fucking going!”

"Hey, hey, easy.” Agron soothes, his mouth against Nasir’s jaw. “He’s been smoking since like three. He’s fucked up. Didn’t mean to be rude.”

“No, he’s a dick.” Nasir purses his lips, unimpressed and leaning away from him. “Who is mad because he can’t be on yours.”

“Nasir,” Agron draws back a little, brow furrowed. “Come on.”

“Forget it. I’m gonna go change.” 

Nasir snatches up the bags from his feet, turning on the landing. He doesn’t make it up onto the next step though, Agron catches his wrist, tugging him back. The kiss is a little off center, Agron’s nose against Nasir’s cheek, his teeth sharp on his bottom lip. He gets a hand into the back of Nasir’s hair, holds him rough and tight against him, prying his lips apart with an unrelenting tongue. It’s a punishing, breath stealing type of kiss – open and gasping as Agron takes control, fucks his mouth against Nasir’s until neither of them can inhale. When they wrench back, Nasir’s eyes are wide and a little hazy. 

“You know who I am.” Agron thumbs against Nasir’s swollen bottom lip. “And who I belong to.”

Nodding slowly, Nasir slides his hand down Agron’s chest. He doesn’t have to see it to know is his name is under his palm, inked in forever, surrounded by Arabian jasmine flowers. It’s not dumb for him to be jealous – it’s only dumb for him to doubt Agron, even a little bit. Agron and Nasir have been in each other’s pockets since Junior year, since seventeen. Pietros’ words float around his head – he’s right. He doesn’t have to worry about Agron cheating on him. He’s never worried about that. Only put people in their place when they looked a little too long – as a warning to not even try. 

“I’ll be back.” Leaning in, Nasir kisses Agron’s cheek, gentle and placating, before turning and heading up the stairs. 

\- - - 

Perched on the counter top, Nasir gently swings his legs, heels tapping on the cabinet below. He's got a laptop running on the kitchen island, the screen flickering with green font - searching for the right server to hack into the security cameras. It's not a necessarily difficult job, just time consuming as it has to rotate through multiple networks. Nasir leaves it be for now, leans his head back and watches Agron work instead.

Maybe it's the drugs, the murky fog lingering through their downstairs, but Nasir gets a little distracted by how good Agron looks, how _good_ it feels to be able to look, to be able to cherish little moments when usually they’re both moving too fast to stay still. Standing there barefoot in holey jeans, a loose t-shirt stretched tight over his shoulders, Agron looks comfortable and domestic in their kitchen. His pupils might be blown open, but he looks easy, loose with the way he butters a slice of bread. 

"Hey," Nasir murmurs, kicking out his foot to gently tap Agron's thigh. 

"Hey yourself." Agron glances up at him, setting the knife back on the cutting board. 

"I really like you, you know?" Nasir asks. He feels warm, dragged down into mellow and calm by the weed. Everything feels warm, feels _good_.

"Oh, only like?" Tipping the bread onto the skillet, Agron steps towards him, slipping between Nasir's knees. "Only a little?"

"I love you a lot." Nasir confesses, hooks his calf around Agron's thigh, tugging him close. He just wants Agron against him, wants to feel the press of his chest against Nasir’s, wants to smell his cologne and soap and skin, wants to feel the weight of Agron’s arms around him. 

"I love you too." Leaning in, Agron kisses the corner of Nasir's jaw, nuzzles against his throat as he hugs him. 

Through the kitchen doorway, Nasir has a clear shot to the living room and their long, gray couch. Gannicus and Duro are shoving into one another towards the far end, fighting as they play the video game on the screen. Lugo looks half dead in a beanbag on the floor, Nemetes slouched beside him. Only Donar is looking their direction, mouth curled in a scowl. Maybe it's the bitterness, the curl of jealousy, or maybe it's just that Nasir is feeling petty that he runs his fingers through Agron's hair, grips tights and keeps him close. The motion pulls his face down, Agron's mouth sealing onto his throat with a sharp bite, making Nasir gasp audibly in the quiet kitchen. When he looks over Agron's shoulder, he looks directly at Donar, making his voice raise just enough to get over the 8bit track of Mario Kart. 

" _Fuck! Agron!_ "

Donar is quick to turn his head, hand to his mouth as he bites viciously at a thumb nail. There isn't a part of Nasir that feels bad, left dazed and half hard as Agron pulls back, moving over to the stove with an apologetic, lingering hand on Nasir's thigh. It’s either make out or cook, and Agron might have a smidgen of German grandmother in him. 

"That's going to bruise." He grins, flipping the bread over. 

"They always do." 

Nasir's fingertips flutter to his neck, where he's sure the skin is tender and molten. When he presses on it, a spark shoots through him, tender and sore. It makes him ache, wants too much with no time to do it. Maybe before this Roman bullshit started again, there would have been time for them to take time – to go somewhere or do something. Nasir knows they can’t really afford a vacation, but maybe just taking a drive out of Capua. Reminding themselves that there is more to life than gang wars and violence. Now though, Nasir knows what their world is going to turn into – it’s going to be back and forth, small spats and heightened war. There is no down time now. 

"You gonna tell me why you had a bad day?" Agron asks, looking up through his eyelashes at Nasir. It stops Nasir’s inner panic, snapped back into the present, the now. 

“What makes you think I had a bad day?” Nasir shrugs flippantly, reaching over to steal a piece of cheese, avoiding Agron’s swat from the spatula. 

“Because you get incredibly clingy and bratty when you’ve had a bad day.” Agron grins a little then, flashes those dimples that make Nasir’s heart ache. 

“I’m not bratty.” Nasir pouts out his bottom lip. “I’m not.”

“You are.” Agron starts to assemble the sandwich, being careful not to burn his fingers on the pan. “That thing on the stairs, total temper tantrum.”

“I’ll show you temper tantrum!” Nasir begins to wiggle off the counter, meaning to get down, when Agron’s free hand shoots out. He grips just above the back of Nasir’s knee, his whole palm spread over the back of his thigh as he lifts and pushes, scooting Nasir back up onto the counter with a quick shove. It’s done so quickly that Nasir doesn’t even have the chance to marvel at Agron’s strength, instead gets distracted by Agron suddenly leaning in close, his voice dipping. 

“Sit.” He commands, the dominant tone enough to make Nasir stay still, lit up from the inside out. “And talk.”

“I just-“ Nasir begins, his hands coming together, playing with his fingers. “I just got into a rough discussion and then customers were bitchy. No one wants to pay for an oil change that their Uncle Fuck-Face could do. Oenomaus thinks Gannicus is just hitting on him and Melitta to get free parking. But we all know they’re like one drunken orgy away from polygamous marriage. It was a lot.”

“Okay,” Agron sets one sandwich down on the cutting board to cool, setting up another one. “Customers are always dicks. Always. Not everyone can do an oil change. If they could, you wouldn’t have a job. Oenomaus and Gannicus just need to circle jerk their problems out. Melitta can watch or help or whatever the straights do. And what was your discussion about?”

Nasir wishes being high didn’t make him turn into a talker. It’s always like this. Either weed makes him super touch sensitive and in dire need of attention or he’s stuck talking and being overly social. In the back of his mind, sober Nasir is furious that high Nasir is about to say any of this. It’s not a discussion he should be having, especially not right now, not with a full house. 

“Do you think we shove our relationship in other people’s faces?” Nasir blurts out, his fingers curled over the edge of the counter, gripped tight enough his knuckles are turning white. 

“Shove it in other people’s faces how?” Agron asks slowly, watching Nasir out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not a secret we’re together.”

“I don’t know.” Nasir sighs deeply, trying to find the words. “Like, maybe people are sick of hearing about us. We’ve been together for a long time. It’s like old news. Maybe people are tired of us being so obvious?”

“I guess?” Agron shrugs half-heartedly. “We’re also one of the few relationships that have lasted so, I feel like we should be allowed to brag about that. I mean, other than Naevia and Crixus, we’re the only ones who haven’t taken a break. Even King Spartacus and Mira took a break.”

“I know that. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing that we’re together.” Nasir continues. “But like, for example, say, I don’t know, Lugo came to you for dating advice. And you tried to give it to him, but he got mad and told you that your opinion is invalid because you haven’t had the same issues as him. And like, you don’t know what you’re talking about and are a bad friend because you don’t get it.”

“Saxa or Pietros?” Agron sighs deeply.

“Not saying.” Nasir shakes his head. “I’m just saying, like, are we a bad couple because everyone thinks we don’t have issues? Like do we shove our ‘perfect couple’-ness on other people?”

“No. That would be Crixus and Naevia.” Agron sets the new sandwich down on the cutting board, turning the burner off with a quick flick of his wrist. “I don’t think we shove it in people’s faces. We’re not afraid to be together though. And we’ve been together for a long time. What are you really asking me, baby, because I’m really confused?”

“Am I a bad boyfriend because I’m not afraid that I’m going to come home one day and find you fucking someone in our bed?” Nasir blurts out, this time, his voice raising an octave. In the living room, the menu for Mario Kart keeps playing in a loop, clearly being ignored in favor of the conversation happening in the kitchen. 

“What?” Agron turns fully to face Nasir, brow lowered as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Say that again?”

“Am I a bad boyfriend-“ Nasir begins again, slower this time, but Agron quickly raises his hand. 

“If you have to ask me that, then we have bigger problems than I thought. What the fuck does that even mean?”

“It means that’s how I was made to feel today-“ Nasir cuts himself off, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m happy with us. So fucking happy. And like, I can sympathize with people going through shit. Sure. I do sympathize. But I don’t have the same worries as other people, the same experiences. Doesn’t mean I think we’re perfect or our love story is more important or better than others.”

“Baby,” Agron moves between Nasir’s legs again, cups his cheek in his hand. “Listen to me, okay? You don’t have to feel guilty because our life is good, alright? It hasn’t always been and it isn’t always. Sometimes we have issues. Sometimes we get mad at each other. We fight. I gave you the silent treatment like a month ago.”

“You did. It was awful.” Nasir mumbles, arms sliding around Agron’s waist. 

“Look,” Agron tucks a strand of hair behind Nasir’s ear. “I know you want to be a good friend. You _are_ a good friend. And sometimes you have to just say to someone, _I will help where I can but your experiences are unique and not universal._ You can sympathize with them without having to relate directly to it. And anyone who wishes you were as unhappy as they are isn’t really your friend.”

Leaning forward, Nasir presses his forehead into Agron’s chest, feels his chin come rest on his crown. Here, he can inhale the scent of their fabric softener on Agron’s shirt, the musk of his cologne on top. Agron is warm here too, feels so good when he wraps his arms around Nasir, when he hugs him close and tight. Inside of Agron’s hold, everything feels good and right to Nasir. 

“When did you get so smart?” Nasir mumbles, clinging tightly to Agron’s back. 

“I’ve been around for a while.” Agron teases, his fingers massaging along Nasir’s spine. “I’ve picked up a few things.”

“Well, I’m glad you picked me up.” Nasir unburies his face just long enough to smile softly up at Agron. It’s the type of smile that reserved for him and him alone, eyes wide and mouth soft. “Really glad.”

“I’m really glad too.” Agron smiles in return, charmed and awe struck by Nasir. He kisses him one, a brief press of their lips, before he forces himself back a few steps. “Come on. Let’s feed that beautiful brain of yours.”

“Cut them into triangles, yeah?” Nasir asks, hopping down from the counter. 

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Agron is already holding the knife. 

\- - - 

The safe house on 4th is a three-story monstrosity that is flanked on either side by condemned row homes. It's the type of house that one wouldn't look twice at, with pale siding and ply boards covering some of the windows. Crab grass grows behind a tall, rot iron fence. The porch just behind is gray and splintered, a few abandoned pots left with tall, limp weeds growing. It's not meant to look nice or draw attention but is often used to hide people from either the cops or someone looking out for harm. This is also the type of place that is easily disposable. 

Inside, the first floor has been fully furnished. Large couches and chairs are pressed into the walls of both the living room and the dining room. A few tables are spread around too, tops laden with large bottles, ash trays, random bags of chips. The speakers mounted in the living room are blaring a heavy bass, the dubstep vibrating through the packed house. 

There are people everywhere, leaning against walls, half slouched over the backs and fronts of the couches, dancing in the middle of the living room. The kitchen is a swarm of bodies, reaching for bottles, dragging cups under the kegs propped up on the counters. Someone is passing around trays of jello shots, the tiny cups half tipped over as stray elbows tap it. 

Spartacus is holding court in the dining room, a chair shoved in the corner. Heracleo is like a fucking hyena beside him, laughing at everything as he smokes Gannicus' kush. They have been talking off and on about trade lines, about drug territories and who steps on who. It's the widening of their truce - slipping in more and more clauses of what each group wants. 

Agron is pinned against the wall, promised and told to stay close to Spartacus - at least for a little while. He's on shadow duty, a looming figure behind Spartacus no matter where he goes. There is no illusion that he is there for anything other than protection. Crixus is stationed close to the door, the invisible security, watching who and what goes in and out the front door. Even at a party, there is always a sense of a system - every base covered. There is a gun in Agron's waistband, half hidden under his loose t-shirt. There is also one hidden in the secret compartment in the window sill to his right. The Pirates came in thinking they were all meeting on level ground - but they know nothing. 

"I'm willing to make adjustments," Spartacus is saying against the rim of his beer bottle. "But I'm not going to fuck myself.”

"No no," Heracleo waves a hand, the joint in between his fingers waving smoke in the air. "I’m not taking over. I’m asking to split profits.”

“Splitting roads is one thing. Splitting people is another.” Agron comments, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Wise words from one of few of them." 

Below him, Heracleo cranes his head back, grin wide and wild. He’s not flanked by his usual seconds, only the bald and scowling one. The grinning shit, Castus, seems to be lost somewhere in the crowd. There are too many people here, too many bodies pressed into every crevice and Agron doesn’t like it. It makes his paranoia spike, praying that Crixus is paying attention, that's he doing his fucking job. Everyone is here - a fucking shoot out would be a massacre. 

"Someone has to remember that there are lives at stake." Agron replies, turning his cold stare towards Heracleo, looking down his nose at him. 

"Lives on both sides." Heracleo replies, brows raised. "Isn't that why we're all here?"

"Yes, of course it is." Spartacus placates. "It's an alliance, after all. The fate of our groups is always the top priority. I think Agron is just saying that we need to make sure we consider all points of view. If we’re going to change territory lines, I need to make sure the businesses and homes in that area are protected. The Rebels have worked hard for that space and our people are loyal.”

“No one is taking your kingdom from you.” Heracleo shakes off Agron's silent stare, doesn't let it bother him as he grins wider. "Anyways, why are we talking business? This is a party!

Spartacus smiles with his mouth and not his eyes, glancing up at Agron. It another one of his silent warnings, tightening of the leash he has at Agron's throat. They can’t provoke, can’t give any cause for Heracleo to suspect that anything is amiss. They need the Pirates pliable, easily molded to the Rebel’s cause. And it seems the easiest way to do that is to give Heracleo as much weed and booze as possible. 

Gannicus breaks the tension with a loud laugh and an elbow, jostling everyone aside as he slaps a few baggies down on the table. There is a little package of rolling papers there too and a bong. A few others around seem eager to participate as Heracleo busies himself loading up, his fingers nimble and knowing. 

"Go take a lap." Gannicus murmurs, leaning into Agron, bicep into his chest. His curls are sweaty and stuck to the side of his neck, smelling strongly of beer. "I've got this."

"I told him I'd stay," Agron mutters back, reaching and taking the cigarette from between Gannicus' finger. He doesn’t usually smoke but anything to keep his hands and his mind busy. 

"Stay then," Gannicus shrugs a shoulder, a knowing glint to his eye. "But stop killin' my high, _ja_?" 

Agron rolls his eyes, leans back into the wall instead - chastised. Usually, he would be into a party like this. Probably drink a couple of bottles with Lugo and Donar. Might smoke up with Gannicus in the backyard. Help Saxa in a good natured brawl, put the French fucks in their place. Most likely of all though, Agron would probably pressed against Nasir's back, swaying in some dark corner. Something about parties and alcohol and the dark bring out something almost feral in both of them. 

Speaking of, Agron hasn’t seen him at all tonight. Knows he must be here because Pietros is currently in Barca’s lap and they came together. He had to carry Nasir to bed last night, pried him out of the basement and away from the three computer screens he fell asleep in front of. They had been both too tired to do anything, too fucked up to do more than strip down and wrap up in their bed. Half their friends were asleep in the living room anyway.

It eats away at him – the tension, the frustration, the never ending paranoia that Caesar or fucking Crassus is going to suddenly appear. Agron tries to mellow it out, lets the cigarette smoke slip through his lungs, counts back from one hundred. The party has been going on long enough that people are starting to get trashy – let their guards down as long as everyone around them is too. Agron can tell it’s going to become raunchy soon, watches the way the bottles are being passed around. 

“Fuck, your vibes, man.” Gannicus leans against the wall next to Agron, shaking his head. His hair is a wild mess, held back by a pair of sunglasses. “Do you ever chill?” 

“Not when I’m surrounded by dumb fucks.” Agron grumbles, accepts the beer that Donar holds out to him. He didn’t even realize the other man had shown up, just acknowledged that Donar likes to linger just behind Agron’s right side.

“Listen, all of us are fucking armed.” Gannicus cranes his head over, gets really close to Agron’s face, enough to count the eyelashes around his green eyes. “I can barely keep my shorts up with how much fucking heat I’m packing. If anything goes down, they’re in our territory. They’re at our mercy.”

“But-“ Agron goes to argue, only to be stopped by Gannicus’ hand. 

“Don’t you have a hot as hell boyfriend to go feel up?” Gannicus takes a heavy drink of his own beer. “Word on the street is he’s wearing cut offs.”

“You’re seriously trying to bribe me with my own boyfriend?” Agron glances over at him, unimpressed. 

“All I’m saying is, Nasir, in those _little cut offs_ , probably halfway to wasted right now? All rosy with those big eyes?” Gannicus wiggles his eyebrows. “If I noticed, and I only just watched him come down from upstairs, then you know other people are.”

“You’re an insufferable asshole, you know that, right?” Agron asks, crushing the filter of his cigarette into the ashtray in the windowsill. 

“Come on, ya beast!” Gannicus cheers merrily, slapping Agron on the back. “Go claim your territory or something.”

“Fuck off!” Agron calls back, the words lost in the music as he moves through the crowd. 

\- - - 

Nasir regrets doing the tequila shots. He's a sucker for peer pressure though, and Saxa had the good stuff hidden in a flask in her purse. The alcohol had been smooth in his mouth, burned going down, followed by the lime Chadara had shoved between his lips. The first one was rough, the second shot was better, by the fifth - Nasir could feel it sparking at his fingertips. 

There are so many people in the house, so many bodies pressed together. Too many faces to recognize - a mix of Rebels and Pirates and random people who leech off shit like this. Nasir could barely get upstairs to pee, shoving through arms and elbows, bodies leaning on surfaces, pressed tight until it was sweltering. With half the windows boarded up, minimal air can get in, so the heavy smoke and stench of sweaty bodies presses in tight in every corner. 

Nasir's mind feels like it's half awake, half floating above his head – cloudy and daze. He drank too fast, too much. One shoulder of his flannel, _Agron's flannel_ , is hanging off his shoulder, drooped helplessly around his elbow. The tank top under is thankfully loose and open, tucked into the front of his shorts in a little disheveled French tuck. There is a knife in his boot, knows were almost all of the guns hidden in the house, and Nasir can’t fucking think straight.

As he steps off the landing, Nasir tries to crane his head to see if he can recognize someone - anyone at this point. He knows Agron is stuck with Spartacus for a while, stuck working or at least looming dangerously just behind. Duro had been half undressed upstairs in the doorway of a bedroom, Auctus against his back and some unnamed guy on his front. Nasir hadn't bothered to look twice. Naevia had been with Crixus all night, guarding the front door with a scowl and a large bottle of water. Saxa disappeared out back the minute they got drunk enough, shouting something vicious and snarling in German. Even Pietros, who had bitched and moaned the entire way over, had been swept up with his boyfriend. 

Shuffling forward, Nasir figures he might as well try and go to the kitchen - find something that isn't alcohol to choke down. Maybe some juice. Or pop. Maybe Lugo will be in there. Keeping his head down, trying to keep track of his own feet in the mass of everyone else, Nasir almost makes it too. He’s too caught up trying to put one foot in front of the other that he never sees the guy coming. It nearly knocks him on his ass, only doesn't because the guy grabs his arm to steady him, forcing Nasir to look up.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry.” Nasir gasps, eyes wide as he tracks over the guy’s grinning face. 

“I think I’m the one who should apologize.” He brushes his fingers over Nasir’s bare shoulder, fixing the twisted strap of his tank top. “but maybe it was fate’s intention that made me bump into you.”

“Fate?” Nasir asks, confused. There is no denying the guy is attractive. Dreads pushed back from his face in a red wrap, a glint of a gold earring hanging in a small hoop from his left ear. The guy is all smooth skin and a knowing smirk and Nasir is way too drunk to focus right now. 

“They told me that Spartacus’ Rebels were the most beautiful,” the guy’s eyes roam slowly over Nasir, lingering long on the curve of his shoulder and neck, “but I didn’t believe them until now.”

“You’re very…” Nasir struggles for a moment. “bold. For being a Pirate.”

“Would it be as bold if I wasn’t a Pirate?” The man cocks his head to the side, his grin flashing wide. “I think you could persuade me to leave them. With a mouth like yours.”

“Treason isn’t attractive.” Nasir purses his lips, feels the flush heating in his cheeks and neck. “And I have a boyfriend.” 

He means to turn away, slip back through the crowd, maybe go pry Pietros away for some company, when the man suddenly reaches out, grabbing Nasir’s wrist. The motion makes him turn back, eying the grip with an upturned eyebrow. Nasir knows about four ways to break the guy’s arm.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” That grin comes back, coy and slow, gaze lingering on Nasir’s mouth. “I’m Castus, by the way.”

“Nasir.” He isn’t sure why he gives it up, maybe distracted by the feeling of Castus’ fingertips dragging along his wrist. It’s been a very long time since anyone has noticed him. Has been bold or maybe stupid enough, to actually come out and hit on him. Everyone Nasir surrounds himself with knows who he belongs to. It feels good to be wanted, to be _desired_. It’s flattering. 

“So, tell me then, Nasir,” Castus asks, stepping forward so he doesn’t have to talk as loud. Nasir can smell the cologne on him, smells like sea salt and rain. Through the folds of his button up, Nasir can also see a curl of ink on his chest. “If you’ve got a boyfriend, why are you wondering around this party by yourself?”

“I’m not. I’m just-“ Nasir stammers, distracted by Castus slipping his hand off Nasir’s wrist to instead reach up and touch his hair. He’s gentle about it, tucks an unruly curl behind Nasir’s ear. “He’s just busy. With stuff. Other stuff. I’m fine.”

“Hmm.” Castus is close now, his dark eyes gleaming in the flashing strobe lights. “You want to know what I think?”

“What?” Nasir isn’t sure he can draw in a full breath, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He knows he should really pull away, should put a hand between them and back up, go find someone else to spend his evening with. But his legs don’t seem to want to move, in tuned to Castus’ cool breath on his face, leaning to whisper into Nasir’s ear. 

“I think, if you were my boyfriend, then I wouldn’t have let you get out of bed this morning. Not with the way you look and I’m sure the way you taste.”

Nasir can’t think of anything to say, struck speechless as Castus’ lips brush his earlobe. Something warm and burning begins coiling in his stomach, goosebumps breaking out on his arms even in the heat. It’s not just the words, it’s the way he said them – Castus’ voice hushed and raspy. He meets Castus with that look, watches as he leans back with a smug smirk, fingers trailing down Nasir’s arm again. 

“I-“ Nasir struggles, trying to think of something – anything clever – to say in response. It doesn’t seem to matter though as suddenly a hand is being pressed between them, a forearm digging into Nasir’s chest. 

“Back the fuck up.” Agron’s voice is a growl, his teeth gritted together – looking more like fangs in the flashing strobe lights. He looms over both of them, tall and deadly with a pair of shoulders that makes it evident that Agron has the power to hurt. 

“Ah!” Castus exhales knowingly, mockingly putting up his hands as he rocks back on his heels, putting more space between them. “This is that fate again.”

“Agron.” Finally finding his voice, Nasir turns his face to look at his boyfriend. He knows this look. Knows what Agron does after donning this look. “He didn’t know. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“It all makes sense now.” Castus is smirking now, ignoring Agron’s scowl to look at Nasir instead. 

“Please. Spartacus said not to start problems.” Nasir hisses, wrapping his hands around Agron’s forearm, leaning into his side. Maybe if he clings tight enough, leans into it, Agron won’t shake him off. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”

"With a pretty face and an ass to match," Castus laughs, tipping his head back. "I should have known you’d belonged to Spartacus' bitch."

The strobe lights reflect over his skin, a swinging of red, blue, and green. It makes everything feel slowed down, murky in the shadows. Agron’s quick exhale feels loud above the music, his laugh caught between his snarling teeth. He moves to wrench his arm out of Nasir’s grip, fist already curled, when Nasir suddenly sinks his nails in. Agron easily has fifty pounds on Nasir and all of it is muscle. It takes all of his strength, hands gripped down hard as he swings in front of Agron, leans his entire weight into him. 

“If you fuck him up,” Nasir murmurs, having to stand on his toes to try and reach Agron’s gaze, “then we’ll lose this deal. And we’re never going to get into that club. And hundreds of people are going to die.” 

Agron doesn’t respond, grits his teeth even tighter together until a vein throbs in his throat. Nasir wants to grip his face, wants to pull him down so he can actually see him, kiss the snarl out of his mouth. This is not how he thought tonight was going to go, not at all. He’s too fucking drunk to deal with this shit. 

" _Bitte_ ,” Nasir implores, the German word sharp on his tongue. It’s a plea, begging to give Agron pause as suddenly, _blessedly_ Spartacus steps between them, Heracleo just behind. He makes it look like an accident, makes it look like he was just going to the stairs, raising his eyebrows between them. 

Spartacus has known them both long enough to read a fucking room. He can tell the danger in the set of Agron’s jaw, the square of his shoulders, of the way Nasir is clinging to the front of him. There is little Nasir could physically do to stop Agron though if he was going to strike. Nasir is small, fast and sharp in his fighting style, but he doesn’t stand a chance against a power packer like Agron.

“Well! Look at this!” Heracleo booms, clearly tone deaf to the situation as he wraps a jovial arm around Castus’ shoulders. “You two found each other!”

“It seems they have.” Spartacus smiles tight lipped, nodding his head at both Agron and then Nasir. 

Cautiously, Agron slips his arm out of Nasir’s grip, using it instead to wrap around his shoulders and pull him tight. Nasir goes willingly, tucks his nose against Agron’s shirt for a moment, breathes him in. It seems the rush of fear has sobered him enough that the weight of exhaustion has moved in. 

“Found each other?” Castus asks. He’s not grinning anymore, only carefully glancing between the group like he doesn’t get it. 

“You don’t know who this is?” Heracleo ribs, shaking Castus. “Thought you were always one step ahead of me?”

“Nasir,” Spartacus addresses, breaking through Heracleo’s drunken giggling. “This is Castus. This is who you’re going to be developing security with.”

"Oh, um, nice to meet you." Nasir meets Castus' gaze, watches the smirk slowly grow across his handsome face. 

Agron’s eyes looking supernatural in the light. He looms like a fucking gargoyle half in the dark, glinting snarl with Nasir plastered along his side. 

"Pleasure is mine." Castus bows his head in a slight nod. When he raises back up, he glances at Agron, eyebrow raised. "I didn't realize you were a genius too. Beauty and brains?"

"Fuck-" Agron starts, wrenching forward, when Spartacus steps in front of him.

Leaning in to whisper in his ear, Spartacus pushes a hand into Agron’s chest. Whatever he says, Nasir is too low to hear it, but he can’t escape the way Agron's body goes taught - drawn up tall. Nasir can feel him trembling, so angry that he’s shaking. The lights do well to hide it, but he’s burning so hot Nasir can feel it through his clothes. Agron pulls back, slips his arm out of Nasir's grip with a sharp tug, flashing his teeth before storming towards the stairs. 

"Looks like you two will be spending lots of time together.” Heracleo coos, leaning into Castus’ side. “Not that I think this one is complaining. Always were a fan of those soft, baby faces, huh, Castus?”

Nasir doesn't bother with pleasantries, doesn’t have it in him to use his manners with the Pirates. He flashes Spartacus a thin lined smile, just enough to acknowledge him, before he flees towards the stairs too. He doesn't want to linger, doesn't want to leave Agron alone upstairs for too long, doesn’t want to hear Heracleo talk about him like he’s a fucking piece of property. 

By the time Nasir reaches the second story, Agron is gone from sight. He only knows to go further by Duro’s pointing, sprawled mostly naked in a doorway. Nasir doesn’t waste time wondering when his life got like this, instead takes the stairs as quickly as he can. The third floor is mostly deserted, the thumping of the music muted this far up from the living room. It lets Nasir hear it – the splintering of furniture and shouting. 

The door has been left ajar, so Nasir doesn’t make a noise when he enters. This high up in the house, these rooms are mostly used as look out rooms, so they’re minimally furnished. A bedside table lays splintered and broken against the wall, a lamp in shards on the floor. There is a lonely mattress shoved in the corner – bare and with a suspicious stain in the corner – and in the center of all of it, Agron stands fuming. 

“What the fuck was that?” Nasir finds his voice, sharp and demanding as he stomps further into the room. “Spartacus fucking told us not to start shit. And you came over without-“

“Fuck Spartacus!” Agron nearly roars, spinning quickly to face Nasir. “And fuck that grinning shithead.”

“I told you, he didn’t know. He was just being-“ Nasir starts again, arms out stretched at his sides. His pulse is racing, hot and angry. 

“I don’t give a fuck what he was doing!” Agron’s voice booms in the nearly empty room, seems to echo off the very ceiling. He’s never looked more tall, more domineering, as he looms in the empty room.

“Do you think there is anyone in this fucking world I wouldn’t kill for touching you?”

“Agron,” Nasir gasps, eyes going huge. It’s like a punch to the gut. Shocking and violent and Nasir’s knees feel a little weak. 

“My fucking god!” Agron snarls, no longer shouting but fuming, shoulders hunched. “I’ve been crazy about you since I was fucking seventeen! I can’t go through a single day without thinking about, wondering if you’re okay, hoping you’re happy. I lay awake next to you at night petrified that you’re going to leave, that you’re going to run away because you’ll realize that this whole world is fucked up. That you’re a genius who changes oil instead of the world. That I’m not enough, don’t deserve, to have you stay.”

Stepping across the room, avoiding the shards of glass on the floor, Nasir comes to stand in front of Agron. The words are sharp, his voice brittle as Agron’s chest heaves. He very rarely ever talks like this – honest and raw. Agron is the type of man to keep his mouth shut and show instead of tell. This, this is out of character, but Nasir burns with the words. They fill him up, hot and honest, feels smothered and elated under the emotion. 

He takes Agron’s hand between his own, slow so Agron has the chance to pull away if he wants to, and slowly raises it to his mouth. There are small scars along the back of Agron’s hand, from knives and fights and glass. They’re not the hands of someone who is coy or shies away from brutality. Agron is a fighter, after all. A beast kept on Spartacus’ short leash. The kiss pressed to his knuckles it open and slow, a lingering press as Nasir looks up at Agron through his eyelashes. Even in all the anger, all the violence that surrounds them, these hands have never been anything but gentle, loving towards Nasir. 

“Agron Clotilde Giesler.” Nasir begins, his chin resting against Agron’s fingers, gazing up at him with wide, dark eyes. “I love you with my whole heart. I’m never going to love anyone else. Ever. You’re it for me.”

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” Agron confesses, breathless and gasping. His eyes are wild, green so bright it looks unnatural, wide and yearning. Nasir moves his free hand up to cup Agron’s cheek, drags his thumb along the sharp cut of his jaw. 

“Then forget about the pirate,” Nasir smiles then, bright and growing. “Forget everything else. But us. Right here.”

“I love you so much.” Agron confesses in a gasp as his hands move, cupping and tilting Nasir’s face up. 

The kiss is frantic, off center from the start as Agron opens is mouth around Nasir’s bottom lip and bites. He tugs on it, gets Nasir up on his toes, already begging for it. Agron works him over, sucks slow and hard against his tongue. Nasir gasps out a moan, gets a hand up into Agron’s hair, falls open under him. They both taste like beer, like the shitty type that was in the kegs, but neither seem to mind. They're too busy trying to get rid of any space between them, hands quick and clinging. Agron curls his tongue against Nasir’s, rubs against it and pushes until he can fuck it into Nasir’s mouth. 

Desperate hands reach for clothes, Nasir stripping off his flannel, leaving in a heap in the floor. They only separate for a moment, pushed away to gasp in a breath and for Agron to grab the back of his t-shirt, yanks it over his head. They’re moving too fast, but neither can seem to stop – hands grasping and sliding under fabric, tugging on buttons. 

“Fuck, baby, why are you wearing so many clothes?” Agron groans, his hand held tight in Nasir’s tank top, watching as he struggles to unzip his boots. They're ass kicking boots, the wedge thick with steal toes - the type that could cause damage with a well aimed attack.

“I knew you were gonna be busy tonight.” Nasir confesses, finally freeing himself and stepping out of his shoes. It drops him down two inches, the soles no longer giving him the extra height. It seems to spur Agron on, a wild glint to his eye as he rubs his hands down Nasir’s back, skips the pockets entirely, and instead grips Nasir’s ass through his cut offs. 

“So?” Agron prompts, kissing a trail down Nasir’s throat, biting just to hear Nasir gasp and then moan as he worries the skin, sucks so it bruises bright and violent. Nasir will act all shy about the hickies and bites later, but he never covers them - wears them like a brand.

“Wasn’t gonna dress up if you weren’t going to see me.” Nasir confesses around a cry, back arches and hips digging into Agron’s thigh. There is barely any room to get between them, but Nasir makes it work, digs his fingers into his own stomach so he can unbutton his shorts, kicks them down his legs. Agron growls when he sees Nasir isn’t wearing anything under them, skin smooth and bare, cock curved against his stomach.

“This for me?” Agron asks, reaching down to stroke his finger over the weeping head of Nasir’s cock. 

“Who else would it be for?” Nasir moans, tries leaning into the touch. 

Maybe if he’s sweet enough, presses hard enough, Agron will wrap his fist around him. It doesn’t seem to be the plan though as Agron’s fingers leave his cock, trail up his stomach and onto his chest again. Agron’s fingers are long, thick when they’re inside of Nasir, but now it seems he just wants to play, tugging the strap down on Nasir’s loose tank top. He rubs slow circles around Nasir’s left nipple, traces the outline as he fucks his tongue back into Nasir’s mouth. 

Nasir is so hard he’s leaking, rubbing against the denim on Agron’s thigh. It’s rough and hurts a little, but any friction is better than none. Agron’s cock is one long line, pressed tight against the zipper of his jeans. There is no way it’s comfortable, Nasir petting his fingertips over it, wants to reach for the zipper, but Agron doesn’t let him. 

The angle seems to bother Agron, half hunched over and straining. He straightens up, flashes Nasir a cocky little grin, a dimple denting his cheek, and then he lifts. Nasir only has half a second to comprehend and then he’s in Agron’s arms, legs wrapped around his waist. It’s not the first time they’ve fucked like this, up against a wall, but Nasir always goes a bit _feral_ when he watches Agron’s shoulders flex, his biceps bulging with muscle, slick with sweat. 

“Holy fuck," Nasir gasps, his back slamming into the wall next to the closet door. It was only half a dozen steps but Agron doesn't seem concerned, leaning his head down to lick over Nasir's nipple. "Come on, come on."

"Come on what?" Agron asks, raising a slow eyebrow up at Nasir. He likes to hear it, makes Nasir actually say the words before he gives him what he wants. 

Nasir, gasping up at the ceiling, digs his fingers into Agron's shoulders, scrambling for some semblance of control. His legs are shaking, turned on and hot. The alcohol seems to have worn off, but now Nasir is drunk on something else entirely. Just wants to feel Agron against him, _inside him_.

He tries to thrust against him, Nasir bracing his shoulders against the wall and rolling forward. Agron's arms flex to keep them upright, support the movement and the weight of Nasir trying to chance sensation. His cock drags along Agron's abs, slick with sweat and precome. It's good, so fucking good, but it's not enough and Agron has that shit eating grin back on his face, watching Nasir work. 

"Fuck me." Nasir whines, one of his hands sliding from behind Agron's shoulder, down onto the front, dragging his nails along the tattoo there. 

"Yeah?" Agron asks, his own palm spreading over Nasir's hip. It's a secret, something no one knows about, the way Agron's name is scrawled in thin, italic font across Nasir's hip in a slow arch. It's surrounded by fire lilies. The orange ink pops against his dark skin, etched in perfect detail. 

"I'm yours. Only yours." Nasir pants, frantic as he leans in, kisses along Agron's jaw. The stubble burns his mouth, rough and sharp. Nasir can't get enough of it though, laps and then bite, just behind the hinge of Agron's jaw - feels him shudder. 

Digging into his pocket, Agron manages to pull the small packet of lube out. He had just thrown it in there when he left the house, hadn't really thought they were going to have an opportunity to do this. Honestly, if it were just the Rebels, Agron would have had Nasir hours ago. But with the Pirates, it had felt like too much of a risk. Now though, no one is going to be fucking dumb enough to come all the way upstairs. There are no windows up here, the room stifling, barely lit from the hallway light. 

For as frantic and turned on as he is, Agron never rushes this part. He's been inside of Nasir too many times to count - knows exactly where to push, where to thrust. But every time feels like the first time, feels too fucking good to not take his time. Nasir opens up around his fingers with a low moan, tossing his head back against the wall and staring at Agron through half lidded eyes, mouth left unhinged. 

One quickly becomes two, pressed in tight and then curling. It's easy like this, Nasir left open and hanging, his tank top stuck to his chest with sweat. He already looks fucked out, crying out loudly when Agron drums his fingers over his prostate. He doesn't linger, skirts across it and then comes back, thrusting slow but deep. Nasir is small, perfect size to be held and picked up, but it takes a lot of prep for him to take Agron's thick cock. 

"Fu-uck!" Nasir chants, the words punched out of him as Agron works. Half the lube is on his fingers, pressing a third one to watch Nasir writhe on it. He's half delirious and they've only just started - not even got to the main event yet. 

"God, look at you." Agron marvels, grips the front of Nasir's tank and tugs, watches the fabric stretch, the collar a mess as it slides down to Nasir's stomach. It's in the way, and with a powerful yank, Agron gets it up and over his head. He wants to see all that skin - all of it rosy and flushed with pleasure. "Always take me so good."

"You're teasing me." Nasir whines, his knees flexing against Agron's ribs. He doesn't know how long he's going to be able to wait, drunk and needy and desperate. 

"I'm not." Agron coos, soothes his fingers through Nasir's hair. "I'm giving you what you want."

"I want your cock." Nasir hooks his arms over Agron's shoulders, leans forward away from the wall and nuzzles into his neck. 

It shifts the weight, Agron's arm wrapping around his waist, holding him steady. With all of him pressed into Agron's fingers, he slips the third one in, scissors them wide and feels Nasir's gasping cry against his throat. There is part of Agron that knows he should slow down, should simmer for just a moment - let Nasir adjust - but he just can't. It's too much. 

His fingers slip out, fumbling with the button on his jeans. Nasir is no help, clinging to him, fingernails scratching at his shoulders. There are going to be marks there, long, angry lines that will scab up. Agron relishes in it, loves to feel them when he's moving - his skin tight as he shakes someone's fancy drink at work. 

Finally, he manages to push the denim down - just enough. Just enough for the waistband to sink below his ass, his fingers trying to squeeze the now slicked packet. It's messy, less coordinated than he usually is, but how can Agron fucking think when Nasir is biting at his shoulder, a hot, shuddering mess in his arms. 

Palm flat against Nasir's sternum, Agron pushes him back - pins him against the wall. He has to use as leverage, his other hand tight around his cock, dragging the head slowly back and forth over Nasir's hole. He watches Nasir's eyes flutter open, his mouth open around a moan, raising an arm to brace it on the doorframe next to them. Nasir's arm flexes as he moves himself down, grinds against Agron, trying to take him in. 

"Fuck," Agron snarls, mesmerized as Nasir's thighs flex around him, draw him close so Agron doesn't have the room to move. His cock slips in, just the head, just enough to breach where Nasir is hot and wet. "You're so desperate right now. Look so good taking me."

"Agron, please, _Bitte_ " Nasir slurs, one of his hands digging into Agron's shoulder, trying to brace himself. "I need you."

Leaning in, Agron kisses Nasir's mouth sweetly, lets it linger slow and gentle - just a press of their lips together. It's followed by his grip changing, sliding into the hilt. He feels Nasir’s mouth fall open, his wail loud and echoing around the pitched roof. Agron swallows his gasp, gets his tongue back into Nasir's mouth - tries to distract him as he adjusts. 

Clammy hands slide down from the wall, desperate at grabbing at Agron's back, his sides. Nasir can't keep still, rotating his hips down and squeezing his legs together, dragging Agron towards him. For all his claim to want it slow, Agron is a fucking sucker for desperate Nasir. He plants his hands on Nasir's hips, pushes him back into the wall and then yanks him down _hard_ onto his cock. 

The rhythm is fast, sharp little thrusts that have Nasir sliding up and down on the wall, bouncing against him. Agron's hands are sweaty, sliding so he has to grip hard onto Nasir's hips, fingertips bruising on his ass. There is no way they're going to get out of this not marked up - evidence all over each other. 

Nasir surges forward when Agron nails his prostate, his cock angry and red between them, leaking everywhere. He's so fucking high on this, trembling as he wraps his arms over Agron’s shoulder's again, hands digging into his hair. He makes Agron take his full weight, drags his face into Nasir's neck. Agron easily bites into his throat, sucking on the skin sharply, drawing a high pitched moan from Nasir's throat. 

Dazed, Nasir's eyes flicker around the room, tries to draw in a full breath that just gets punched out of him by Agron's deep, sharp thrusts. They didn't close the door, the wood cracked a good six inches from the jam. The light in the hallway is dim, a flickering forgotten thing, but enough that a low glow emanates into the room. It's easy then to see who is standing there in the doorway, his dark eyes wide with the sight. 

Nasir doesn't have the conscious mind to tell Agron, doesn't want him to stop. Can't handle it if Agron even thinks of pulling away. Instead, Nasir keeps his hand in Agron's hair, moans high and loud as Agron shifts his grip enough taking Nasir's full weight on his arms as he fucks him harder. 

"Agron!" Nasir cries out, nearly wailing, watching Castus watch them. This is so fucked up. No one should be up here. There is nothing of interest on the third floor of the house. But Nasir supposes, half drunk on cock and pleasure, that this is something. If Castus had any question about Agron and Nasir, it's being clearly painted in front of him. 

"You gonna come on my cock?" Agron tugs back, gets his mouth against Nasir's again. The words are snarled through his teeth, hushed and dirty, but sounding so loud in the still room. 

Nasir can only desperately nod, dizzy from the motion of constantly being pushed up and down, Agron's cock battering into him. He wants to come, wants to finally let the sweltering heat, the pleasure free from where it's coiling tighter and tighter in his gut. He slides his hand around to Agron's front, gets his palm against that tattoo again, laps at Agron's mouth. 

"Fuck, can I? Please," Nasir begs, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head as Agron thrusts in, grinds his cock against Nasir's prostate, makes him see stars. 

"You're being so good for me." Agron praises, knows all of Nasir's kinks, can read him better than anyone else. He kisses Nasir's cheek, his jaw, and then his ear, murmuring to him. "Come on baby, wanna feel you come for me."

Nasir forgets about everything else. He forgets about the party, forgets about fucking Castus, forgets about holding back. His hands dig into Agron's back, nails sharp and frantic, as his cock suddenly goes off. It spurts hard, twitching between them, stuck to rub between their stomachs. Agron fucks him through it, rolling thrusts that sink deeper and deeper until Nasir isn't sure where one of them begins and the other ends. 

He's trembling, body constricting over and over as he rides the pleasure out. Agron can't resist the way Nasir's body is basically milking him, twisted tight and then tighter, a fucking vice that burns through Agron. He makes it another half dozen thrusts - short, aborted things that keep him all the way in - and then it's over. He comes hard, shouting and slamming them back into the wall. Cock twitching, Agron spills deep inside Nasir - coats the inside of him, filling him up. 

Knees going weak, Agron only has half a conscious to turn them, to take a few staggering steps, before dropping to his knees. He lays Nasir out on that bare mattress, avoiding the suspicious corner. Nasir whines, high and needy when he pulls out, but Agron doesn't let him suffer. Instead, he curls up against Nasir's side, sticks his fingers back inside him, chasing the stray droplets of his come back inside him. 

Eyes barely open, Nasir lets Agron kiss him, trails his mouth over Nasir's neck, his chest, in tiny pecks that just prolong the pleasure. Nasir spares a glance towards the doorway again, but it's empty - just the dim, looming hallway beyond. He doesn't linger on it, warm and sated, heart thundering as Agron tenderly kisses his forehead. 

"Love you baby." Agron murmurs, doting and soft, lets Nasir's head rest against his bicep. "Love you so much." 

"Love you." Nasir's voice is small, moaning a little as Agron's fingers flex inside him. It's too soon to go again, though his cock tries to twitch in interest. 

He comes back to his sense a little, feels the scratch of Agron's waistband against his thigh. Blearily, Nasir glances down. He's covered in come, down his front and Agron's, bruises littering his chest, skin rosy and flushed. 

"You didn't take your jeans off." Nasir mumbles, feebly pushing his fingers against where the fabric has pooled and rubbed a mark into Agron's thigh. 

"Was too worried about getting you out of yours." Agron sighs, nuzzling against Nasir's throat. 

"You did a good job." Nasir leans his head back, lets Agron's weight and his warmth press against him. All he can smell is sweat and Agron's cologne, body warm and thrumming from it. "Always so good to me."

"I want to be." Agron's mouth presses into Nasir's cheek. He lingers there, just wants to be close, to feel Nasir safe against him. 

"You are." Drawing back, Nasir turns so he can meet Agron's gaze, hand coming up to cup his jaw. "You're so good to me. You're a great boyfriend. And a wonderful brother. And an excellent friend. You're a good man, Agron. You really are."

A flush spreads across Agron's face, pinkening and spreading a little onto his jaw. He's never been talked to like this, no, only things like this come from Nasir. Little, sweet words that Nasir breathes against his face. Agron can't come up with a reply, instead leans in and kisses Nasir instead, tries to put his gratitude into licking into Nasir's mouth. 

They make out for a few minutes, lost in their own haze and in pressing against each other. A wild shout from the stairs pulls them back into reality, the party still raging underneath their room. It won't be long until someone goes looking for them, or worse, sneaks up here to use the room for exactly what Agron and Nasir did. 

"Fuck!" Nasir whines when Agron is forced to pull his fingers free, reaching off the mattress and grabbing up the abandoned flannel. He uses the inside to wipe his fingers off, then down Nasir's front and his own. There is nothing they can really do for how they look though. Nasir's tank top is stretched, the straps pulled thin so the fabric pools loose and open, exposing the fresh bruises on his neck and chest. 

"You look well fucked." Agron teases, pulling his t-shirt over his head. His shoulders sting, the skin hot and red from Nasir's nails. 

"I am well fucked." Nasir grins, gives up on trying to straighten his tank top, instead leans forward, smacking a kiss to Agron's jaw. 

"Really? Who did that?" Agron takes Nasir's hand, pulls him towards the stairs. 

The party is still in full swing, but duller, people leaning more, eyes heavy and drunk. No one pays them any mind, ignores them entirely as Agron shoves through bodies, keeping Nasir close to his side. It's not until they're nearly out of the house, a few feet from the doorway, when Gannicus suddenly appears. He gives them a knowing once over, raises a brow as Nasir tugs on the strap of his tank top. 

"Heading out?" Gannicus asks, glancing up at Agron. 

"Yeah, why?" Agron pulls Nasir against his side, away from the couple making out against the back of the couch. 

"No reason." Gannicus shrugs, that knowing grin just growing. "Except."

Agron, who had been moving to walk past him, suddenly pauses. 

"Except Spartacus said to keep your phone on."

Agron nods once, understanding, before pulling them out of the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that I got dragged out of quarantine and back into work. So, my updates might be a little further apart but I am not abandoning this fic or anything. Just be a little patient with me <3

Like most neighborhood watering holes, the Wooden Nickle is a different scene every night. Monday through Thursday, it’s the local place to pick up a pint after work with some friends to bitch about bosses and customers. Or, it’s the place to grab a quick dinner and beer with the wife or husband before retreating home to watch the nine o’clock news. People greet each other by name, slumped at the bar or in booths, quiet conversation or the occasional yelling at T.V. screens during the football or rugby season. Sometimes, it’s the light at the end of a dark block, somewhere to be anonymous and stare at your problems in the bottom of a crystal glass.

The weekend is a different story. Friday through Sunday, the Wooden Nickle is transformed into a hot spot – a dive bar with neon lights and unsmiling bar tender. People come down from the Roman side, the Pirate side, the local college kids too poor to go to any of the clubs and just want a round of cheap booze and easy dancing. The half the tables are put up, shoved over into the main room so that a makeshift dance floor separates the pool tables and the people hunched around the booths. There is laughter and screaming, the heavy bass of the top twenty radio taking over what is usually the low hum of oldies rock. 

While during the week, the door is usually free to be propped open on cool nights, letting the light spill out onto the street like a familiar beacon. The weekend though requires a rotation of people checking I.D.s, bouncing out those who try and start fights, keeping a keen eye out for any gold eagles tattooed or emblazoned on jackets. Any gang warfare is unwelcome in the Nickle unless it’s official Rebel business. 

Agron makes an appletini on auto-pilot, not even bothering to look down as he surveys the rest of the patrons. He makes sure he is the main bartender on weekends, working the seven to four shift, closing the place out. It's not that he doesn't trust Duro or Saxa - he does. They're family. But the crowd is always rougher the later it gets, prone to fights and debauchery as the alcohol sets in. Agron has the scowl and the wingspan that tells people when they're cut off even before he opens his mouth. 

"Damn, I could watch you shake that all night." The girl, her long hair pulled over one shoulder, bats her long eyelashes up at him. She doesn't even watch when Agron flips the shaker, pours the thin liquid into the glass, instead just stares straight at Agron's chest. 

"Well, you can get the show again if you drink this and order another one." Agron tries for flirting, attempts to smile and raise a brow. He needs that cocky arrogance that girls seem drawn too - ego as big as his cock. But it pains him. It really does. But Agron also has a mortgage and a car payment and groceries to buy. So if he has to pretend to be some hetero's wet dream, well then, he'll flex and smile and show dimples for the extra tip. 

"Trying to get me drunk?" The girl grins wide, curls her lips around the rim of her glass to take a sip. When she pulls back, her lipstick has left a mark. 

"Sure." Squinting a little, Agron seems to remember he's supposed to be checking her out, forcing his eyes down into the low cut of her shirt. "I'd be a pretty shit bartender if I wasn't."

"You would. Lucky for you, I'm not really a one drink kind of girl." She slips a ten-dollar bill across the bar, her electric green nails lingering on it until Agron's fingertips brush hers to pick it up. 

"I'll keep that in mind." Agron tucks the ten into the pocket of his tight jeans with a flash of dimples. 

She laughs, head thrown back and exaggerated, retreating from the bar edge to go join her friends. Objectively, Agron is surprised she fell for it. It hasn't escaped Agron that he isn't the best at flirting. He's the aggressive type, makes fun of someone for half an hour and call it putting the moves on them. He honestly has no idea how it work on Nasir. Probably was a combination of persistence and a little sweet talk. Didn't hurt that Nasir had been all fire and bitter venom when they first met. 

Speaking of, Nasir is currently circling the pool tables, sipping slowly from a beer Saxa poured him nearly an hour ago. Agron keeps catching glimpses of him through the sea of bodies, distracted when his laughter carries over the lapse in music. Nasir knows what he's doing though, dressed like sin in a pair of skin tight black jeans and a crimson button up left open down his sternum, hinting at a few gold chains there. 

Hair up in a bun with dark eyes, it's all part of the ruse. They do this at least once a month - him and Naevia - like it's a ritual. They come into the Nickle looking hot and harmless, ordering drinks they keep close by at all times. Inevitably, the manage to get over by the tables, pretend they're dumb and flirty, giggle and bat long eyelashes at anyone who will look. Then they hustle hundreds of dollars from half-drunk rich guys who are too worried about getting their dick wet than to watch Naevia sink two combos in a row. 

It's an art form really - one that burns Agron from the inside out. On one hand, he has to appreciate the gig. Nasir and Naevia make bank and it's a safe, easy way to draw in a little extra cash at the end of the month. And Agron can't fault him - Nasir is so fucking gorgeous it almost hurts to look at him sometimes. Shadows playing over his face from the dim pool lights, acting fluid and easy when men come up to him - thinking he's easy prey. And while Agron had kissed the mole just below Nasir's ear this even before heading out, he had also seen the six inch switch blade slide into Nasir's waist. 

"Keg's tapped." Saxa grunts, shoving her elbow into Agron's side as she moves the heavy barrel past him, arms flexing. "We got another Guinness downstairs?"

"Yeah, get Lugo to bring it up." Agron instructs, fingers lingering on the computer screen as he punches in another round for the guys in the corner. 

He can't help his gaze though, glances over with his breath caught tight in his throat. Nasir bends in half over the pool table, shirt gaping and tongue caught between his teeth. Some guy in a fucking Budweiser t-shirt is leaning into his side, talking to him and motioning to the table as if he's giving him instructions. Whatever he's saying, Nasir smiles wide, feeding into as his pool stick glides through his fingers. Two striped balls click neatly into one another, slipping into the far pocket. The Budweiser guy doesn't even notice, just reaches out to touch the small dagger earring swinging from Nasir's ear. 

"Not that I'm not appreciating the sight," Duro's voice is suddenly loud in Agron's ear, his arm pressed tight to his brother's, "But if I have to shake another round of cosmos by myself, I might actually commit fratricide myself."

" _Fratricide_?" Agron scoffs, taping his elbow sharply into Duro's side. "Wow. Big SAT word for you."

"Hey, fuck you." Duro laughs, wrinkling his nose. "I'm a smart guy."

"Smart ass." Saxa chimes in, twisting a bottle of cherries open. The girl in front of her seems more keen on watching Saxa than accepting her whiskey sour. 

"Auctus thinks I'm smart. And hot. And like, way out of his league." Duro nodding towards the door. Said man and Barca are standing on either side of the bar doors, laughing together.

"Auctus also has terrible taste." Agron teases, leaning forward to hear some guy's order, setting two bottles of Miller Lite on the counter. "He dated a guy who is obsessed with flying rats."

"Rude." Duro huffs indignantly, moving over to the computer to punch in the cosmos he just made. "I'll have you know, he told me I'm the best he's ever had."

"So, you trust someone who quotes Drake at you?" Chadara, seeming to appear out of no where, sets the empty beer glasses from her tray into the bin, handing over the cash to Agron. "And then you let him fuck you? Like maybe a handie but not like, full, ya know."

"I don't think-" Duro cuts himself off, brow furrowing, before continuing. "It's a nice song. I thought it was nice."

"Please tell me you didn't fucking do it to _Best I Ever Had_ ," Saxa loops an arm around her girlfriend, ignoring the disappointed glances at the bar, as she kisses her cheek. "Duro, baby cousin, no!"

"I really don't want to talk about this." Duro crosses his arms over his chest. "At all."

"Me neither!" Agron chimes in, wiping a rag down the mess of condensation left when a group turned from the bar. 

"But, I thought it was nice. Like, romantic and shit. And Nasir said the music didn't matter. It's about the _emotion_ ," Duro defends himself, putting his fingers up in quotes. 

Saxa's laugh is so loud that some of the patrons from other tables look over, eyebrows raised. She has to grab onto Chadara to keep from falling over, her hair tangled into her girlfriend's, half spilled onto her shoulders. Agron grimaces at her, moves around to set two more Millers down. 

"You got sex advice from your brother's boyfriend?" Saxa giggles still, wiping at her eye. "You realize what that means right? Like, he basically told you how Agron fucks- Hey!"

Saxa doesn't get to finish, Agron's hand promptly colliding with the back of her head, forcing it off Chadara's shoulder. He's already tired of this conversation. He's been tired of this conversation since it started nearly a week and a half ago. 

"I'm not paying you to stand around and gossip." Agron barks, slamming a few steins down under the spouts. "Either get to pouring or get out."

"Fuck, you don't have to be a dick." Saxa sneers, unlooping her arm from Chadara with a final kiss to her cheek. 

"Just because our mothers are sisters doesn't mean I have to put up with your fucking attitude either." Agron snarls only to be met by a Saxa's quick glare. She is already yelling in German when Duro wraps an arm around her waist and lifts, depositing her on the opposite side of the bar. 

"Look, Saxa, pretty girls. Talk to them. Get them drinks." He coos, patting her head. When he turns back to Agron, Duro widens his eyes in a clear sign of what the fuck. 

Agron doesn't bother to respond to it, rolls his eyes and goes back to taking orders. It's not like he can't get caught up in it. The appletini girl returns, her glances slow and long over Agron's body, her friend leaning into her side. Agron doesn't give them too much attention, stealing glances at them as he shakes the vodka into the schnapps. There is some remix playing, the words a mumbled mess, but it pulls people onto the dance floor so loud Agron can't barely hear the orders coming in. 

If there is one thing that is good about bartending though, it's fast work. There is little time to glower or get caught up in his head when wave after wave of drunk people stagger up to the bar. Agron does it all on autopilot, pours cosmos and martinis and pina coldas. He makes a fancy sex on a beach for a woman in her forties that seems to only be able to stare at his belt and nothing else. A guy in a trucker cap with a faded mustache orders four Moscow mules and slams all of them before wandering back to his booth and his scowling coworkers. He's in the middle of shaking tabacso into a tall glass, watching the vodka swirl in the tomato juice, when he feels it. It's an itch in the middle of his spine, slipping into a weight in his chest, forcing him to slowly turn around. 

There is a stool at the corner of the bar, directly under the soft, golden glow of one of the lights, turning everything soft and shadow. Usually a sign is tapped to the cushion - out of order - but it's really just there to keep it vacant. Only one person is allowed that seat. Nasir looks heaven sent as he drags his fingers in a slow circle around the edge of a coaster, illuminating his shiny hair like a halo. He is staring at Agron, the corner of his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

It's a necessary reaction. Agron pushes the bloody mary towards a girl who has her arms hooked up on the bar, her chest nearly spilling out of a tube top. He doesn't even fucking look, doesn't watch the glass teeter dangerously before settling. Moves across the bar and sets his hands up on the wood, raising a brow at Nasir. 

“God, the service in this bar is terrible. Who do I have to screw to get a drink around here?” Nasir rolls his eyes, can’t help the grin spreading across his face. 

"Sorry, he’s taken. Got a good boy at home.” Agron flashes his teeth at Nasir’s sudden flush. "Real sweet. Smart as a tack."

"Well," Nasir tries for bratty, settling his lips into a pout. "I guess you'll do. Is there anything worth drinking in this place?"

"Let me see." Agron glances below him into the clear mini-fridge. "I've got bottom juice." 

"Don't call it that!" Nasir suddenly hisses, leaning forward with a sharp laugh. "Oh my god!"

"Why? That's what it is." Agron smirks, setting a wine glass down in front of him. The pitcher of white sangria follows after, chunks of pineapple and oranges floating in the golden liquid. He only makes it for Nasir. Won’t even sell it to the other customers. "Makes you sweet - _all over_."

"Other people," Nasir glances around them, making sure no one is lingering too close, "eat fruit for other reasons too. It's not just...ya know."

"Bottoms?" Agron supplies, twisting the top open on the pitcher. "I mean, I can make you some Pillow Princess Punch if you want. Or there is that Peach Honey Pot drink you like so much."

"Agron Giesler!" Nasir hisses, his cheeks bright and burning. "Shut your mouth."

"Mm, but, I don't know. Eating out peaches? Sounds gay." Agron smirks, reaching in with a plastic cocktail sword to pluck a pineapple out of Nasir's drink. He makes a show of sucking it off, lapping over his bottom lip. 

"Is this how you get tips?" Nasir flushes, squirming on his seat. "Propositioning them with fruit?"

"No, usually use vegetables. You know? Eggplants, zucchini, fucking gourds." Agron shrugs, "Should just come to work in sweatpants. So they get the idea."

"No." Nasir's brow furrows, bottom lip slipping just enough that it's a trace of a pout. "You won't."

Agron has to get pulled away, forced for just a moment to help Saxa get a handle of fucking Hennessey off a top shelf, unbagged another bottle of Crown. There is a group of five guys all in matching frat t-shirts that cheer when the bottle hits the counter, starting some dumb chant as Saxa lines up crystal shot glasses. She doesn't say anything to Agron, rolling her eyes at the antics, but her hand on his back is gentle when she pushes Agron back towards the end of the bar. 

"You done robbing my customers blind?" Agron asks upon his return, eying the mostly empty wine glass. The guy who is sitting on Nasir's right glances over and then away, more interested in flicking through Tindr than the conversation. 

"Robbing? What are you talking about?" Nasir’s smirk grows. “It's just beginners luck.” His fingers inch across the bar, the very tips brushing Agron’s. 

“Is that what you told them?” Agron doesn’t move, watches the dark smudges of Nasir’s eyelashes on his cheeks. He wants to press his mouth along the curve there, inhale into Nasir's hair. "Pretend you've never handled such a big stick before?"

"Oh no," Nasir bats his eyelashes up at Agron, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "It's my first time. I hope they're gentle on me."

"Stop." Agron has the urge to grip Nasir's jaw, settles for wrinkling his nose at him instead. 

“Mm, you like it. And it gets their guards down.” Nasir shrugs a little, feigning innocence. “It’s their fault they don’t think twice before placing bets.”

“Foolish to underestimate you.” Agron leans in, ignores some guy down the bar calling for him. He can wait on his fucking vodka redbull. "How much money have you pulled?"

“Almost a grand.” The corner of Nasir’s mouth pulls up, smirking as he tilts his head to the side. "Made six hundred by midnight."

“Damn baby.” Agron exhales sharp, shocked. He’s only been here for a few hours. "Quit your day job." 

"Impressed?" Nasir asks, raising his glass to his mouth. He drinks heavily from it, humming in pleasure, before using his fingers to retrieve a pineapple from the bottom of the glass. 

"I'm always impressed." Agron lets his eyes trail down Nasir's face, traces the outline of his throat, down to where a small pendant is nestled just below his collarbones. 

"And guess what?" Nasir hooks his elbows onto the bar, leaning over the polished wood. Agron meets him halfway, lowering his head down. "You see that table of girls over there? Against the wall?"

"Hm," Agron goes to turn his head, but Nasir's fingers inch up his wrist. 

"Do it slow."

Agron does it subtle, tilts his slightly to the side, looks out the corner of his eye. It's the fucking appletini girl and her friends, all of them crowded into a corner booth. There is a lot of laughter, curly hair thrown over shoulders and glasses being raised. They keep looking this way, faces leaned behind hands. 

"What about them?" Agron rolls his eyes, turns back. 

"Well, you see, the blond one? She has a bet going that she can get you to kiss her by closing. Bet her friends fifty bucks." Nasir explains, tapping his finger along the rim of his glass. "And the redhead? She bet seventy five."

"Wow." Raising his eyebrows, Agron scowls. "Just what I always wanted - getting some chick slick from across the bar. I should have changed my career to prostitution."

"Hm, maybe. You have the body for it," Nasir's grin grows wider at Agron's pursed lips. "You didn't hear the best part though." 

"It gets better?" Agron snarks, glancing over at the girls again. They're openly watching them now, a brunette in the middle giggling into her long island ice tea. 

"I bet them a hundred," Nasir murmurs, his fingers slipping off the wine glass and instead trailing over the collar of Agron's work shirt. "One fifty if you kiss me first."

"Should have bet them two hundred that I would take you in the back and blow you." Agron leans into the touch, pushes Nasir's glass just slightly down the bar so it doesn't teeter dangerously between them. 

"Is that an option?" Nasir grins, self indulgent, as he traces Agron's collar bone. 

"Depends." Shrugging a shoulder, Agron glances over at the table again, making it look like he's just looking around. "What are you going to do with all this money, huh?"

"I was kinda hoping we could spread it out on the bed and you could fuck me on it." Nasir bites his bottom lip, gaze lingering on Agron's mouth. "Though, right now, I'm really more inclined to ride you."

"Told you. Bottom juice. Gets you every time." Agron reaches across the bar, grips the back of Nasir's neck and pulls him forward. It's a hard stretch, the wood separating them wide, but Agron is tall and he makes it work. 

It's a tame kiss as far as they're concerned. Agron is slow with fitting Nasir's bottom lip between his own, makes it gentle and easy. He's sure from across the room, it could look like a shy, first kiss. Something to get weak kneed and hazy over. But the girls have paid to see a show, so Agron lets them have a taste. He slips his fingers just up enough into the strands at the back of Nasir's head, gripping suddenly tight - forcing Nasir's mouth open wide in a sudden moan. 

"Fuck!" 

Trying to pull back, Nasir puts enough space between them that it's obvious when Agron's tongue slips into his mouth. He tastes him slow, traces the sweet, bitter tang of pineapple and oranges off the roof of Nasir's mouth. Wrestles his tongue down flat before massaging over it, gets him lax and whining, before Agron pulls away, slips his hand out and down onto the bar. 

"You think that was believable?" Agron asks, wiping at his mouth with the side of his hand. "As far as first kisses go?"

"I think you just lost all your tips off that table." Nasir's chest is heaving, mouth already bruised from Agron's stubble. 

"It's okay. The blond in the front already gave me like fifty bucks for shaking a drink in front of her. She probably just wet her panties over us." Agron turns fully to face the table now, sure enough she's staring at them, mouth open wide. 

"You're gross." Nasir wrinkles his nose, reaching for the pitcher of sangria. "And also, she can fuck off."

"You can't get mad at me for flirting for money when you do the same thing." Agron gently pulls the drink away from Nasir, pouring him another glass himself. "Least mine is fake."

"It's different." Nasir mutters, looking down into his glass. "I do this like, once in a while, when the shop has been slow. You do this like every night."

"Hardly." Agron scoffs, sets the pitcher back onto the wood with a sharp clip. "You think Old Man Johnson slips me twenties when I give him his Bug Light?"

"I think the bar has gotten a lot busier since you started cutting the sleeves off your work shirts." Nasir raises a pointed glance at the curl of Agron's bare shoulders. The curve of a jasmine flower is peaking out down onto his bicep. 

Agron raises a brow at that. It's not like it's a big secret or anything. Most of the time, it's drunk girls wanting to watch a guy flex and smile pretty at them over the bar. Agron only really knows how to do that, has to be reminded all the time by Duro or Saxa to at least act a little straight. Enough to pad his pockets with tips and extra business. Agron has never let them touch him, has never moved from behind the bar. 

"Baby," Agron starts, leans over to take Nasir's fingers between his. "Come on. It's meaningless. I'm not even straight. They get all hot and bothered because I can make a cosmo and stare down their shirt at the same time. You know the whole time I'm doing it; I'm thinking about coming home to you."

"Doesn't stop them from fucking falling all over themselves." Nasir snarls, bitter as he tilts his drink, drawing heavily from it. "Watching them basically vibrate on fucking barstools every time you laugh at one of their lines."

"You're cute when you're jealous." Agron reaches over, taps Nasir's nose, surprised when he yanks back - eyes blazing. "You can't get mad at me when you do the same shit."

"I'm not jealous." Nasir snaps, his hands braced on the bar. "And it is different! You can't say it's the same. You spend what, fifty hours a week doing this shit?"

"Falling all over them sleeves from four feet away is a lot different than watching you bend over a pool table for a guy in a fucking polo." Agron snarks, lets it come out of his mouth before he can catch it. The words make Nasir freeze, bristle sharp as his gaze meets Agron's over the rim of his glass. 

"Fuck you." Nasir hisses. There is a backstory there, an eagle circling over them like a fucking constant reminder. 

It's not the time to be having this discussion. The bar is loud and fucking Post Malone is crooning through the speakers to a mind-numbing volume. People are bumping into one another, laughing and talking and fucking screaming. But at the same time, Agron can't say the words are exactly a lie. It burns him up inside, watching Nasir flirt and feign innocence just so they can get a little more ahead - get a little more into their savings account. Sure, it's harmless, and it's not like Nasir even gives them any real attention but knowing he does it - feels like he should do it - kills Agron. 

"Look, this is my job. If I don't fucking give them what they want, then the money doesn't come." Agron begins slowly, leaning in so he doesn't have to raise his voice as much. The guy next to Nasir is pointedly staring at his phone, though his thumb is doing nothing but tapping the home screen.

"Okay, so you can't get fucking mad when I hustle a little to get us some extra cash." Nasir sets his glass down with a sharp click. "It's not any different. I help pay the bills too, Agron."

"It is different. You have a fucking day job, Nasir." Agron hisses, tries to keep his fucking temper in check. "You don't need to do this. You're not Southend trash looking to con the next schmuck. My income depends on whether people find this fucking joint enjoyable. And part of that is the eye candy."

"I don't need-" Nasir begins, drawing back but Agron cuts him off, gripping his wrist. 

"Not all of us can be super geniuses that flip cars and hack internet security." Agron leans in close, feels the venom bubbling in his chest. But it's too late, he can't fucking clamp his teeth together and stop it. 

"Some of us have to fucking work every day for every fucking dollar they can scrape off the bottom of this shit hole. I'm aware that this isn't your dream, okay? That when you wake up in the morning, this isn't what you thought it would be. But I tried to give you what I could. You wanted the big house, so we bought the big house. You wanted the space and the freedom, so I kicked everyone out. You wanted to act like it's fine that you're a fucking prodigy living in the slums with your fucking washed up, bruiser of a boyfriend. So, if I have to flirt and fucking make eyes at every set of tits that walks through the door to keep you around then I'm going to do it."

Pausing to take in a shaky breath, heat pools low and sickly into Agron's stomach. Nasir is sitting straight on the stool, his hand shaking where it rests against the wine glass, fingers moving the liquid in little tremors as his rings click on the glass. It's his face though, bottom lip trembling as his watery eyes stare up at Agron. A small flush starting at the tip of his nose, beginning to spread to his cheeks, a second away from full out crying. 

"I never asked for this. I never wanted any of it.” Nasir gasps, his chest heaving with the effort. "I just wanted you."

"Baby," Agron starts, the guilt tripping hard in his chest as he steps forward. 

He doesn't give Agron time to respond, slips off the stool with a sharp sob and flees. The crowd seems to instantly swallow him up, parting as he shoves through them. Agron barely catches a glimpse of his shirt as he practically runs between Auctus and Barca, not bothering to look back at his name being called. 

"Fuck!" Agron slams his hand down hard on the wood, feels the skin around his knuckles bruise and split. 

\- - - 

Gannicus slams the door of the van, the hinges squealing as the metal spins, a flake of the pale blue paint. He's been meaning to WD-40 them for like six weeks, but he always forgets. It's like one of those things he reminds himself of in the moment, but then immediately loses it as soon as he's focused on something else.

The gym is closed this early in the morning. It's barely nine o'clock, the neighborhood only really beginning to wake up on a Saturday. But when Gannicus pulls on the handle, the glass door swings open easily. The front desk is vacant, the lights out and dark, except for the glow of the main room. It's just one big room with a boxer ring in the middle, punching bags and mats lined up around the walls. 

He hears the music before he sees anyone, hard not to with the stereo turned up loud enough Gannicus can feel his teeth rattle. Chino Moreno screams at the top of his lungs, brittle and splintering across the vaulted ceiling. There is only one person who would be here this early, _be pissed_ this early. Gannicus rolls his head back, takes in a slow breath, tries to mentally force the caffeine through his bloodstream. 

In the far corner, Agron's back is drenched in sweat. It rolls down his shoulder blades, catching in the small of his back. lost in the waistband of his sweats. More beast than man, Agron has his head down, teeth bared as his fists pound over and over again into the swinging bag. Even from here by the door, Gannicus can see that he didn't wrap properly, his knuckles bloody and dripping behind the pale strips of tape.

"Fucking shit," Gannicus hisses, dropping his own duffel bag onto the floor, starting to head over when a hand grabs his shoulder, making him jump. 

"I wouldn't." Oenomaus smiles grim, shaking his head. 

"He's going to fucking break his hand." Gannicus points, has to raise his voice to get over the blaring riffs of guitar.

"He's been here since seven." Oenomaus doesn't look impressed, crossing his arms over his chest. "He'll tap out in a bit and then we'll deal with it. No point in turning all that anger towards yourself."

"Jesus." Gannicus shakes his head, pulls out his phone and takes a quick picture. It's at least aesthetically pleasing, though the snarl on Agron’s mouth changes the feeling behind the pic. Gannicus can't stop his chaotic bisexual heart from pounding, watching the gleam on Agron's huge bicep as his hand connect solidly to the bag again, making it swing. 

_What the fuck is up with your man?_ Gannicus sends a quick text to Nasir. If nothing else, he will at least appreciate the picture. 

"I don't know what the fuck is going on." Oenomaus sighs, taking the lead as he moves back towards the office, climbing the metal stairs. "Shop isn't open so I don't know why he's here. I was trying to balance the books when he came in. I just left him to it."

"Trouble in paradise?" Gannicus muses, lets himself flop down onto the plush chairs in front of Oenomaus' desk. There is a picture of Gannicus, Melitta, and Oenomaus on the shelf nearby, posed in front the shop. Melitta’s smiling pretty at the camera while Gannicus presses his mouth to Oenomaus’ cheek. 

"Who the fuck knows." Sighing, Oenomaus sinks into his desk chair, sets his hands gingerly on top of the wood. “I try to stay out of it.”

“Liar.” Gannicus laughs, reaching his hand out to snap Oenomaus’ mug of coffee. “You know you treat them all like they’re your kids. Naevia and Saxa and Nasir. Now Pietros. Little grease monkey clan.”

“They’re young.” Oenomaus looks down his nose at Gannicus slurping loudly. “They need some direction. Especially Pietros. He’s barely nineteen.”

“We used to be nineteen once.” Gannicus smirks, a knowing tilt to his head. 

“Exactly.” Oenomaus raises a brow. “And we needed guidance.”

Tossing his head back in a wave of golden curls, Gannicus tosses his laugh towards the ceiling. Deftones isn’t as loud up here, the sound dulled by the shut door and the thick stone walls. There is a window that looks out on the main training room, the glass clear and glinting in the sun. For as much as Oenomaus loves the shop, and he does, the gym is his real passion. Framed news articles line the walls – the triumph of the fighters who come to train under the master. 

"Oh shit." Gannicus mutters, looks down as his phone buzzes. It's not exactly the response he was expecting. 

_eat shit and die._

Turning his wrist, Gannicus shows the tiny screen to Oenomaus, mouth wide in surprise. It’s not that surprising, considering who he’s texting, but Gannicus isn’t usually privy to the vicious side of Nasir. Usually, he’s all smiles and dark eyes and the glitter of a switchblade at his waist. 

“Great.” Oenomaus slumps back in his chair, his fingers pressed to his mouth. “You should really stay out of it.” 

“I wasn’t-“ Gannicus stops himself, looks up. His chest feels hot, warmth filled to the brim at the light filtering in across the bridge of Oenomaus’ nose. Not one to usually get sentimental, Gannicus loses all control over his feelings the minute he’s under his best friend’s gaze. 

“You’re not the best with relationships.” He says it gently, doesn’t try to make the words hurt. “Maybe you shouldn’t get involved.”

“Nah, I get it.” Gannicus waves the mug in a small circle, setting it back down. “Good ol’ Gannicus. Always down for a party, never down for commitment. Probably should stick to what I know, ya know, drinking and drugging.”

“I never said-“ Oenomaus begins, brow furrowed, by Gannicus shakes his head. 

“It’s all good, brother.”

With Saxa, it had been all hot emotion, fast hands, easy and sexy. Gannicus didn’t have to think when he was with Saxa. She’s smart and beautiful and could probably kick his ass if she put her mind to it. And if she didn’t, Agron and Duro would fucking slaughter him. 

With Oenomaus though, with _Melitta_ , Gannicus is constantly choking himself out. He doesn’t want to rush things, doesn’t want to fuck it up. So, he lingers on the fringes of a relationship he hasn’t been invited into, mentally begging for something to make it obvious how much he’s burning with it. It’s not that he wants to get between them and push them apart, Gannicus just wants to be enveloped, to give and show all that his heart can be. To prove that there is a man worthy under the mask he wears. 

Choking on a laugh, Gannicus staggers from his chair and moves along the wall until he can lean into the window. At least here, Oenomaus can’t see his face, can’t see the way his eyes dilate every time Oenomaus smiles or frowns or fucking breathes. 

The music has been turned off in the training room, the silence eerie and creeping where once there were screaming and guitars. The punching bag is still swinging slightly in the corner, a lazy back and forth. It's not what catches Gannicus' eyes though, it's the figure crouched down with his back to the ring. Agron has his knees to his chest, face hidden as he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. Blood has pooled out from around the shitty tape job, his knuckles busted and leaking crimson down onto his wrists. With a deep shudder, Agron rocks forward slightly, head tilted down, and even from this far away, Gannicus can tell he’s trying not to heave. 

"Fucking shit." Exhaling softly, Gannicus leans his forehead down against the glass.

If this is what love does to someone, then maybe he doesn’t want it. 

\- - - 

Castus cranes his head back, lifting his sunglasses. It's not what he was expecting, that's for sure. The text had come in early from a contact not saved in his phone. Straight and to the point, but Castus knew who it was immediately. 

_Be here at 10. Bring a laptop and a 64 external._

It had followed immediately after with an address, one which Castus is currently standing in front of. The house doesn't look like it should be on this block. It's a gray, two story with a fenced in yard, landscaped flowers in a box stretching under the front. Castus has to unhook the front gate, walks slow up the path and then the half dozen stairs that lead to the front door. It's all nice paint and hanging shutters until Castus gets close enough to the see the door. There is no decorative panes of glass around it, two large deadbolts carved into the wood, an industrial strength door knob closed tight. It’s a reminder of the neighborhood he’s in. 

Raising his hand, Castus hesitates before pushing the doorbell. It seems less likely that he'll get shot if he doesn't pound on the door. He only has to wait a few minutes before their is a series of clicks as the locks turn over and the door is being wrenched open. 

At the party, it was dark and kind of smokey. Castus had seen Nasir, had definitely looked, but it seems like a preview to how he is now. He's standing there in a pair of skinny jeans, a loose, black and floral button up left half open, and the baddest pair of shit kickers he's ever even. The spikes along the heals actually look sharp as hell. Castus can't help but stare, lets his eyes drink it all in, the curl of Nasir's hair over his shoulder, his mouth thinned into a tight smile. 

"Hey." Stepping back, Nasir motions a hand towards the interior of the house. 

"Hey yourself." Castus grins, lets the corner of his mouth lift. He can smell jasmine in the air, inhales it deep as he passes by.

Castus has heard about the Rebels being secretly wealthy, how they're actually experts at money laundering, good on bribes and stealing, and this house seems to hint at it. He scans over the pale walls, the gold framed artwork, the photographs on the mantle. Shifting his bag on his shoulder, Castus steps around the coffee table to get a closer look. There is a lot of people Castus hasn't seen before, a few tall, muscled guys leaning together in front of a gym, Crixus and some woman, two little girls on their laps. There is a snapshot of Agron and Nasir on a ferris wheel, Nasir hooked under his arm, kissing Agron's jaw as the other man grins wide. Castus recognizes Spartacus, Crixus, and what he vaguely knows as the other Giesler brother around a table laden heavily with food - Thanksgiving from the decorations. 

"If you're scouting us out," Nasir's voice sounds behind him, close, "you're not going to figure out any gang shit from family photos."

"I wasn't." Turning, Castus watches as Nasir straightens the stack of coasters on the coffee table. "Just curious. Where's your bodyguard?"

"He's not home." Nasir looks up at Castus, standing slowly. 

"Oh." Castus tilts his head back, lets his gaze drink slowly over Nasir. He doesn't think he's going to grow tired of looking at him. "Lucky me."

"Look," Nasir snaps, tucks his hands into his back pockets, "whatever you're thinking, stop. The only reason you're here is because Spartacus told me to train you on how to fucking set up an actually decent security system instead of whatever the fuck you've been using. Nothing more. Got it?"

This close, Castus can finally get a good look at Nasir's face. He's incredibly pretty, just a real beauty with his large eyes and soft mouth, eyelashes miles long. It’s not hard to believe that he would be the boyfriend of a top ranking gang member, was probably claimed the moment Agron saw him. Castus can't help staring at him, memorizing him. But he also notices the redness around those eyes, the bruises that only come from a long cry. Nasir looks weary, emotions waterlogged. 

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you want." Castus relents. There is no sense in pissing Nasir off, especially when he actually needs him. Heracleo would be furious if he didn't work this out. “I wasn’t trying anything.”

"Good." Exhaling sharp, Nasir motions his head towards where a laptop is already set up at the dining room table. "You want a drink?"

"It's ten in the morning." Castus teases, walks slow and casual around the large lounger, slips into the chair closest to Nasir's. "I guess wine? It's a fruit, right?"

"I have other shit." Nasir rolls his eyes, seeming to relax a little at the joke. "I have water, pineapple juice, green tea, sweet tea, some la croix?"

"Green tea is fine." Castus flips his laptop open, waiting for it to boot up. He can see the edge of a gun sticking out from under the couch from where he's sitting, the glint reflected in the morning light. He has to wonder how many other weapons are stashed around. Nasir doesn't seem like a gun guy, but then again, he doesn't live alone. 

It's not like the Pirates don't know a lot about the Rebels. The Romans aren't exactly quiet about their disdain of them, vocal about the inner workings of what they think is Spartacus' gang, have a whole database about them. The Gieslers are known by first and last name, favorite weapons written in the files, even down to their fucking birthdays. Castus knows who the bat in the corner belongs to, knows that Duro is just as unhinged as his brother, can pick Saxa out if he needs to. Nasir had been a mystery though. There had been one blip about him in Agron's file, just a mention of a boyfriend, but nothing else. 

A tall glass of green tea is set down by the corner of Castus' laptop, Nasir giving him a small smile. It makes Castus' stomach drop, marveling a little. The darkness of a party really hadn't done him justice. He makes Castus’ chest warm, tight, as he tries not to stare too much. This is the cruelest torture, but if all Castus can do is spend time with him, he’ll fucking take it. 

"Thanks." Castus lets his fingers brush against Nasir's forearm as he sits down, scooting his chair forward. 

“You’re welcome.”

Pursing his lips, Nasir doesn't exactly pull away from the touch, but makes a point of clicking loudly on his laptop. It’s cute, in a bratty way, unimpressed by Castus’ obvious flirting. He doesn't look mad, exactly, glances over at Castus' hands on his keyboard and then clears his throat. It's not a rejection but it's not an invitation either. 

"Alright, so what do you know about Linux systems?"

The next hour is a blur. Castus tries to keep up. He's not computer illiterate. He's done some shit before, dark web and piracy that way, actually runs a whole ring. It’s a pretty good income, considering that it’s a lot of hoops to jump through to stay safe. He knows how to hide an IP and how to hack into basic systems, but Nasir is a fucking genius. Like, an actual Genius, capital G. It's no wonder that Spartacus keeps him so fucking protected. It also explains why no one has any information on him – he’s ghosted the whole system.

It's also not hard to follow Nasir though He talks softly, explaining things slow and using his fingers to point at Castus' screen, repeats it when Castus can only stare at him. It's not how you'd expect a top gang member to act, especially dealing with someone who was considered an enemy only days ago. Nasir doesn’t seem that hung up on it, lets himself relax slowly and open up, telling Castus little stories about how he got into coding, his first hack job. 

“How the fuck did you manage to go from fucking ivy league to this though?” Castus asks, sits back as a program downloads on his external hard drive. Nasir has been setting him up with a lot to practice on. 

“Oh, well.” Nasir replies, his voice carrying. He’s in the kitchen, pouring them both another glass of tea. “I got in. Got pregnant. And dropped out.”

“Really?” Castus grins wide, fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth. It’s a deep burgundy, gold coins along the edge. “Sixteen and pregnant should have cast you.”

“Hilarious.” Nasir dead pans, coming back in and setting their glasses down. 

“Is that the abridged version or?” Castus asks, hooks an elbow over the back of the chair, turns until his knees brush Nasir’s. “Because I really have the time.”

“It’s the version I tell strangers when they ask.” Nasir snarks, tilts his head to the side a little. But there is a sad tilt to his mouth, something a little off in the way he says it, and a moment later, Nasir is sighing. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Castus tries gently, suppresses the urge to reach out and take Nasir’s hand. “I was just askin’. Nothing serious.”

“No, it’s not that.” Nasir shakes his head. “Sorry, I’ve just been asked this question like six times in the past two weeks. It’s like fucking following me.”

He takes another breath, rubbing a hand over his mouth before settling, leveling Castus with a careful look. There is no reason to tell him everything, and Nasir won’t, but it’s nice to have an outsider’s perspective. Someone who hasn’t known Nasir since basically puberty. Someone who won’t go run off and tell all their friends so everyone is in on the big secret. Nasir can set the stage and tell the story however he sees fit. 

“I got involved with Spartacus and the gang when I was about fifteen sixteen,” Nasir explains, choosing his words carefully. “Back then, I was just completely against the whole idea. I was a foster kid and had like, no friends growing up, but I knew I definitely didn’t want to get involved with what everyone was calling ‘the rebels’.”

“Really? The name goes back that far?” Castus laughs a little, scoffing. 

“It does.” Nasir nods. “Back then, it wasn’t like it is now. We were all in high school and basically living on the streets. No one really had a home to go to, so we kind of just floated around. Shacked up in empty buildings or run down cars. Hoodlums really. Except for those of us who got close with this local mechanic and his wife.”

“Sounds very magical.” Castus muses, running the side of his finger along his bottom lip. “And then, you just stayed? Let them rope you into the world of crime?”

“Kind of.” Nasir shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. “I got involved more and more, saw what they were all about and who everyone was. I’m sure you feel the same about the Pirates, but we really are a family. It was end of junior year, very beginning of senior year, I started dating Agron – which was a huge deal back then. Some of them had just graduated and yeah. And then like, a month after, I got recruited to MIT. Full ride.”

“That’s a lot to handle at seventeen.” Castus raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t know how old Nasir is exactly, but judging by the amount of alcohol in the house and Agron’s birthday in the files, he has to be at least 24. It’s a lot to handle now.

“It was. And I was going to go. Had my whole speech picked out. Had my roommate assignment and everything,” Nasir smiles sadly, thin and brittle. “And then, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. What we were doing, _what we are doing_ , was too important. I couldn’t just leave it behind. I wanted to work for someone good and just, and that’s what Spartacus is. He’s not hard to follow. He kinda inspires loyalty.”

“He definitely isn’t what I expected, not from the reports on the fierce, Rebel King.” Castus drops his voice, lightly mocking. “Freer of a thousand men. Bringer of rain. Lawful overlord.”

Nasir’s laugh is loud, head tossed back as he shakes his head. It’s cute, the way his nose wrinkles, eyes bright. “He is something, that’s for sure.”

“And it didn’t have anything to do with all this?” Castus waves a hand around, motioning towards the house. “You not going and getting your dream? I mean, you got a pretty sweet gig going here. Nicest house on the Southend.”

“We bought the house last year.” Nasir inhales slowly, glancing around. “We had been considering getting a place of our own for a while and then this one went up for sale. I fell in love with it and the price was right, so.”

“So, what about your price?” Castus is careful as he looks at Nasir, tracks his expression. “I mean, can’t be easy being the boyfriend of Spartacus’ right hand, his guard dog. He was gonna beat the shit out of me for even looking at you.”

“And for watching us.” Nasir’s snarks, raising a slow eyebrow at him. It’s clear that he’s not going to get into it, though Castus feels his face burning. He had hoped that it wouldn’t be brought up, the image of the two of them in that dark room, louder than the music downstairs. Castus hadn’t been able to see much past Agron’s back, the cut of his ass, the spilling of clothes on the floor, but the image of Nasir’s sweaty face, thrown back in pleasure, sticks in Castus’ mind – replaying over and over. 

“Listen,” Castus starts, struggling to find the words. “I didn’t mean-“

“You didn’t but you still did.” Nasir shrugs a little, flippantly. “Which is weird and really invasive, but hey, we didn’t shut the door so. It is what it is. Do you really want to talk more about it?”

“No.” Castus watches Nasir’s face, now flushed, turn back towards him. “So, how do you fit into all of this? You’re just the tech guy? What do you do? Run security?”

“Something like that.” Nasir smirks a little. It’s a nice conversation, but it hasn’t escaped either of them that they’re not exactly friends. If they weren’t desperate, this would have never happened. 

“Oh, okay, keep your secrets.” Castus grins wide, lets his hand creep across the table to brush his finger tips against Nasir’s wrist. “Guess I’m gonna have to learn to hack you too, huh?”

Nasir doesn’t get a chance to answer. The sound is like a trigger, two consecutive clicks before the front door is suddenly swinging open, the warm summer air billowing in. It reverberates against the wall behind, bouncing back. With the way their sitting, Castus has to turn to look at who is coming in, but he already knows by how fast Nasir’s head tilts up, attention completely enraptured as Agron slams the door shut. 

“What the fuck.” 

It’s not a question. Agron stops abruptly in the doorway of the living room, shoulders rolled back, eyes narrowed. It’s clear that he didn’t know anyone would be here, sunglasses perched on the top of his head, caught look melting into murderous. He’s holding a duffle bag, heavy and sagging, and when he drops it, it bangs loudly into the hardwood. 

“Spartacus wanted us to meet today.” Nasir pushes his hands into the table, scoots his chair back to stand. “We had to get started.”

“Doesn’t explain why Pirate trash is in my fucking house.” Agron snarls, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a tank top, inked flowers spilling out from under the strap, rippling from the movement. 

“I just - Can we talk-“ Nasir starts, but Castus is quick to intervene. 

“You know what, Nasir, it’s totally fine. I have to take a leak anyways. I’ll give you guys a minute.” Stepping out from behind the table, Castus points towards the stairs. Nasir slides his gaze – eyes wide - slowly off his boyfriend and to the other man, nodding once. 

“Second door on the left.”

Castus makes the wise decision to head for the stairs through the kitchen, walking slow and deliberate, hands out. When he reaches them, he pounds up the stairs, makes a point of walking directly to the bathroom loudly enough that it can't be missed. If Agron was worried about him snooping around, the least Castus can do is reassure him he’s not. Well, not really. When the voices start, he creeps back, leans against what he assumes is a closet. It's not like they're trying to be quiet though, their voices carrying up into the hallway.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Agron snarls, his feet stomping forward. 

"I had to have him come here." Nasir replies, his voice soft and biting. "I told you. Spartacus wanted us to meet today. All my shit is here. My equipment. Unless, you'd have rathered me go into Pirate territory and try and train him here."

"I didn't want you to train him at all!" Agron's voice raises suddenly.

"Well, it's not up to you!" Nasir hisses. "Spartacus asked me and I agreed. End of story."

"Not end of story." Something thumps on the table. "You can't have him over by yourself! What if something happened? What if he wasn't alone?"

"Something happened? Like what?" Nasir's voice is starting to sharpen, pitching high. "You think you have to be my fucking savior, but you don't. I'm just as capable as you are. I know where every fucking weapon is in this house and how to use them!"

"I know! Who do you think trained you? I know you’re fucking good." Agron snaps back. "I also know that he's been trying to get at you since the fucking party. He doesn’t see you as a fucking threat, Nasir, he sees you as-“

“As what? Just another thing to fuck?” Nasir’s voice pitches low, cruel in the curl of his words. “Isn’t that what everyone sees, right? I’m just an easy ass.”

“I never said that.” Agron rebuffs, scoffing loud. “But they're fucking criminals, Nasir, they're going to use any angle they can get. And right now, he's working you over good."

"Oh my fucking god!" Nasir is shouting now. "Are you serious right now? It is possible for someone to be in my company and not try to fuck me!"

"Nasir, come on," Agron's voice relents a little, losing some of that bite. "They're dangerous. He's dangerous. And he's sitting in our fucking house, Nasir, drinking my fucking green tea. Talking to my boyfriend like he's on a social call. When two weeks ago, we would have shot him dead for being in our territory. How many of them know where we live now? You wanted privacy and now we're going to have a fucking brigade on us at all times. There is no way Spartacus isn't going to send people over."

"What? So, you think he's setting us up? Trying to fuck me and also kill us?" Nasir laughs, high and spiteful. "Which angle do you want to work here, Ags? Am I a liability or not? Because right now, I don't even think you know."

"I think I know what men like him want," Agron's voice lowers, growling now. "He made it pretty clear."

"Jesus fuck," Nasir hisses again, spiting the words through his teeth. “Fuck you. Really, no, fuck you Giesler.”

"It's not just about fucking you." Agron's mouth doesn't seem to want to make the words.

"Then what is it? Because I just-" Nasir cuts himself off, and Castus can't see him but he knows that sound - the break in a voice accompanied by tears. 

"I can't keep doing this with you."

The silence that follows is stretching, a clock ticking loudly in the hallway. From Castus' perch, he can see through the door into their bedroom. There is a hoodie tossed over the end of the large bed, the light coming in through the curtains turned a hazy red. It looks warm in there, the type where one could sink in and never leave. 

"Are you-" Agron doesn't finish the sentence, inhaling sharp. 

"I don't want to fight with you about this." Nasir sniffles loudly, his voice wobbling. "Please. I can't. Not right now. Later when I can fucking think about last night and now this.”

“ _Schatzi_.” Agron’s voice is rough, accent thick as he says something else that Castus can’t catch. Whatever it is, it has Nasir crying louder. 

“I've got to get Castus set up with the security system and Spartacus wants me on another thing tonight for Gannicus and Pietros won't stop fucking texting me about Barca and I just-" 

There is another half dozen steps, another thud as what Castus assumes is Agron crossing over the dining room. 

"I need you in my corner right now, okay? I need you on my side." Nasir's voice is muffled, half lost in what sounds like fabric. Castus knows he should stop listening now, but he feels rooted to the spot, back flat against the wall. 

"I'm always in your corner, baby." Agron murmurs, fabric scraping against fabric. "Always."

There is some more sniffling, the sounds of movement and hands sliding over clothes. Castus doesn't move towards the stairs, isn't sure he wants to see what is clearly the sound of Agron murmuring low and quick to Nasir. Instead, he creeps back towards the bathroom, avoids his reflection as he washes his hands. He'll give them a few more minutes, let them have their privacy, before he heads down again. 

Castus feels a little guilty, just a smidge, that he overheard their fight. He’s sure by the time he gets down there, Nasir will be put back together, all slow smiles and those eyes. Castus won’t look at Agron, won’t risk the knowing – the fear of being seen for what Castus is and what he wants. He’ll wait, wait until Agron clearly fucks it up, and then Castus will swoop in, pick up the pieces. 

\- - -

It shouldn’t be this hot at the end of August, it really shouldn’t. But thunderclouds, heavy with rain, hang low in the west and the sun is unrelenting on the pavement. They’ve been rolling in slowly all day, the promise of a big storm. The humidity turns everything murky, breathing feeling weighted and slow. It's the type of oppressive heat that makes everything slick even in the shadows. 

Nasir is sprawled on his back, staring up at the underbelly of a '97 Ford Focus. He's been working on getting this camshaft sensor out for about an hour, but his sweaty palms keeps skidding on the wrench. It doesn't help that he feels like he's breathing through a fog. Stripped to the waist, Nasir has his coveralls knotted at his hips, sweating soaking through the white tank top he's wearing. 

To his left, Pietros is sitting with his back against a Pontiac G6, legs sprawled in front of him. He's been prattling on for a while to Naevia, lamenting about Barca being put on guard duty for the past two nights. Something about watching a warehouse or some shit. Nasir had tried to tune them out, just like he was trying to tune out the German band Saxa was currently blaring from her side of the shop. 

Most days, Nasir would put on his headphones, ignore the distractions, but he's been avoiding his phone. Not because anyone is really messaging him, but it feels like everything is a constant reminder of what he's trying to forget. Last night had been quiet. The last thing he wants to keep looking at is a lock screen - a snapshot of him and Agron, curled up on Spartacus' couch, faces pressed close. 

Nasir had locked himself in the basement after Castus left last night, couldn't sit in the dining room and try. It takes too much to pretend that everything is fine. Agron hadn't bothered him, though Nasir could hear him moving around upstairs. They had gone to bed together, though hesitantly. Nasir pulling on sweats and a t-shirt, hadn't wanted to feel bared open when he was afraid of what would come of it. Didn't matter anyways. He had woken up curled up against Agron, his face in his throat, legs tangled. There is no sneaking out of the bed with him, Agron is the lightest sleeper, so Nasir had to watch as Agron stared at him as he yanked away, quick to get ready for the day in that sickly, coiling silence. 

It makes Nasir want to claw himself out of his skin, core out all the pain. They've fought before, big fights, with yelling and throwing things and the silent treatment. Nasir has been so angry at Agron he’s shook, screamed his lungs raw. But nothing has felt like this. Nothing so pointed, so raw.

Nasir doesn't know what he's going to do with himself if it's over. If this is it, it'll break Nasir's heart beyond repair. He knows, _he’s known_ , for a long time, that Agron is it for him. He’ll never be with anyone else. 

Dragging the side of his hand against his eyes, Nasir wipes roughly at the tears that are gathered there. He doesn't have the time to cry right now. They're fucking packed and he's already spent too long on this car. There is also the horror of getting upset in front of Saxa and Pietros. Naevia would understand, be kind and listen, be sensible, but the other two would just make it a mess. Saxa in her anger and German blood; Pietros with his naivety and frowning. Besides, Nasir doesn't want to dwell on it. 

It's a small miracle then when just as the camshaft drops into his hand, the sound of an engine revs up the road, tires squealing on the asphalt. From his spot on his back, Nasir has to crane his head back to see anything, view limited by the underbelly of the car. It limits his view, makes out the rocker panels, white and polished, with large black rims. The doors open, all four, and it's the shoes - the fucking Armani boots - that has Nasir's heart racing. 

"Pietros!" Nasir hisses, slides out from under the engine, flipping over into a low crouch. 

"What?" Seeming unbothered, Pietros glances up from his phone, starling at Nasir's wild eyed expression. "What's wrong?"

"Where is Oenomaus?" Seeming to notice his tone, Naevia raises her head from her own engine, glancing over and then at the group slowly approaching the shop. 

"He left with Gannicus a little while ago." Scrambling his feet under him, Pietros pops up, trying to look at what Nasr is staring at. "Why?"

There are five of them, fanned out along the length of the garage opening. The front one, a blond with gelled hair, has a cigarette between his lips, hanging low. The two on the right look blearily similar, broad shoulders stretched through torn up t-shirts, leering expressions as Saxa comes out from under the F-150 she had crawled into. The ones on the left are leaning close together, glancing around like they're looking for something. 

"We're booked up today." Saxa greets, turning down the radio as she wipes her hands on a rag. "But I might be able to squeeze you in tomorrow."

"Oh, we're not here for a tune up, princess." One of the guys, a big one with a fucking Adidas hoodie on says, smirking wide. 

"Go in the office and call Spartacus." Nasir instructs, doesn't take his eyes off the blond guy who ducks into the shadow of the garage. He's grinning wide at Nasir, his teeth blaringly white. 

"Wait, why?" Pietros turns his head slowly, hand clutching his phone. 

"And what do we have here?" Blond guy runs his fingers along the trunk of the G6, licking his lips slowly. "Pretty. Pretty. Pretty."

"Pietros, go." Nasir steps out from behind the car, steps in front of the younger man. 

"Spartacus leave all his toys so unattended?" Blond guy is barely a foot away from Nasir now. He's tall, at least six feet, towering over them. 

"Now!" Naevia shouts, shoving a hand into Pietros' back as the first guy, the one closest to Saxa, lunges.

He grabs at Saxa, clearly underestimating her, as his large hand tangles in front of her coveralls. His free arms raises to strike her, barely swinging before Saxa is slamming her forehead into the man's face. Blood sprays in a fountain a she draws back with a scream. It's clear from the crunch she's broken the man's nose as he stumbles back. 

It's the only thing Nasir gets to see before the blond guy steps forward, grabbing at Nasir's throat. This close, Nasir can see the large eagle tattoo inked onto the guy's throat, stares at it as Nasir reaches behind him, fingers wrapping around the handle of the wrench. He swings as hard as he can, gravity working against him, and gets the guy in the jaw. Skin splits around the metal, blood thick as he stumbles back. Nasir only has a moment to appreciate his small victory before one of the bruisers is on him. 

The guy uses his weight and his height to his advantage, grabbing his fist into Nasir's tank top and slamming him into the door of the car. He grips his nails down into Nasir’s wrist, twisting at an awkward angle until the pressure is too much and the wrench clatters to the ground. It knocks the air out of Nair's lungs a little, gasping hard. The guy gets a solid punch in, Nasir's head rolling back as his lips splits. But he's been training under Spartacus and Agron and fucking Crixus for years. He knows how to use the guy's size to his advantage. 

Rolling as far back as he can, Nasir lifts his legs off the concrete and slams his knee into the man's dick as hard as he can. It makes him stagger, gets his grip loosened on Nasir's clothes so he can land a series of quick jabs to the guy's face. Blood is coating Nasir's hand, the guy's nose gushing, but Nasir can't relish in his victory for long.

Blonde guy comes out of nowhere, tackles Nasir down onto the cement, leaving the other guy dizzy against the side of the truck. Blond guy is smarter, threads his fingers into Nasir’s hair and goes for his stomach, punching him hard enough that Nasir actually lurches. His head is still reeling from the punch, temples throbbing as the punches rain on his ribs, his back. It’s almost too much, Nasir can hear Agron’s voice in the back of his head, prompting and instructing. He rolls onto his side as best as he can, pulls his legs up and swings, connecting to the side of the blond’s shins, knocking him off balance. 

Nasir throws his weight to the side, manages to roll the guy under him. In this position, Nasir can use gravity to his advantage. He is relentless with his fists, grips the guy’s collar and slams his hand down over and over into the man’s cheek. Dully, Nasir kind of wishes Agron was here to see this. He would be impressed. But just as Nasir thinks he’s going to win this, two arms suddenly wrap around his biceps, dragging him up and off his feet. 

He tries to kick out, throws his head back and aims for the bruiser’s face, but it happens too quick. One moment, Nasir thinks he has the space to wiggle free and the next the blond is in front of him, face fucking carnage, but he’s grinning anyways, dripping blood down onto his designer t-shirt. They sandwich him between them, smelling rank and acidic, and Nasir struggles for only a moment before pain ricochets through his side, his breath caught tight. 

The knife pulls out and Nasir can only stare at it, mouth dropped open in shock. He can do nothing but watch it, like fucking slow motion, as the blond grins wider and slams it back in, wedges it between Nasir’s ribs and twists. The man leans in close, laps his tongue over the blood on his chin and then over Nasir’s bottom lip. It’s dirty and disgusting and Nasir tries to recoil, is met with the other man’s shoulder. 

“Tell your king he better watch his fucking back.” The guy drawls, half broken by the blood in his mouth. “This is a Roman warning. Next time, we won’t play so nice.”

He yanks the knife out then, smacking a mocking kiss to Nasir’s cheek, and Nasir can’t stop the cry that is ripped out of him. The pain is so intense he can’t fucking breathe, legs weak as the other guy drops him, leaves him to slowly slide down the side of the Pontiac. Nasir’s hand immediately goes to the wound, feels the blood gushing out around his fingers. 

The men retreat then, quickly running out of the garage and piling back into their car with a roar of the engine. Nasir doesn’t have the strength to look. His vision is flickering, breath caught in his burning chest. He somehow manages to make it to the concrete, sprawled on his back, staring up at the metal beams of the garage. He can hear Klaus Meine crooning on the radio, the Scorpions always part of Saxa’s German list, something about still loving someone.

“Oh my god! Nasir!” Saxa’s face appears above him, her face is bloody, a split in her eyebrow and hair half yanked out of her bun. 

“Here, here!” Naevia is there too, a black eye already swelling, pressing a whole role of shop paper towels to his side. Nasir hisses at the contact, twisting on the concrete as Saxa’s palm replaces his own. 

“Just hold on. Hold on.” Saxa is brushing his hair out of his face, holding his jaw. “It’s going to be okay. Spartacus is coming. We’re going to get help.”

“The ambulance is at least an hour away. Fucking Romans.” Pietros is lingering to the side, phone pressed to his cheek. He’s wide eyed, haunted as he stares over the rest of them. “Naevia, what do we do?”

“It’s okay. We’ll take him ourselves. Put him in the van.” Naevia turns back, shaking her head. “Just call Melitta. Tell her we’ll be coming.”

“Sa-Saxa,” Nasir groans, his hand slipping on Saxa’s wrist. She’s holding the paper towels to his side, eyes wide and frantic as she looks from the wound and then up to his face. 

“It’s okay. Shh. Just hang on, schatzi. Okay?” Saxa’s accent comes out thick when she’s upset, touches his cheek with her fingertips. “Hold on. It’ll be okay.”

“Saxa, please,” Nasir hisses, writhing against the cement as his lungs burn. “Tell him-“

“No.” Saxa snarls, her teeth red. “No, you’re going to be okay.” 

“Saxa,” Naevia is crying, her nose running as she inhales sharply. “We have to-“

“No, we don’t. You’re going to be okay. We’ll get you to the hospital and you’ll have a badass scar and that will be it.” Saxa seems to be trying to convince herself of the words too. “You have to be alright. I already called dibs on being Agron’s grooms woman. Agron promised me.”

“Is he dying?” Pietros’ creased face comes into focus, leaning over Naevia’s shoulder. 

Nasir smiles faintly, watches his vision go dark around the edges, mind woozy. It’s a nice dream, a wedding, some semblance of normality. Nasir wonders distantly if he would buy a white suit, what it would feel like to walk down the aisle. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. The forever-ness of their relationship has always hung heavy above them. And now the fighting seems so small, so unimportant compared to all the other shit that is happening. Nasir wonders if this morning was their last together, Nasir standing at the kitchen sink drinking his coffee and ignoring Agron at the dining room table. He had left without a kiss goodbye, hadn’t even said anything. And now, he’s bleeding out on the floor of the shop, thinking that was it. 

He blanks out for a moment, the world going dark, can hear someone yelling, another screech of tires. He tries to focus, tries to swim back up to the surface, but everything is warm and hazy. It feels good to float here, numbed out and slowly sinking into nothing. And then, there is a hand on his face, fingers on his jaw, the smell of pine and spice filtering in through the cooper stench of blood. Nasir feels the heavy taps against his cheek, fighting to drag himself back to consciousness. 

It’s agonizing, but finally, Nasir’s eyelashes flutter open, feeling the corners of his mouth lift in a faint smile as he stares up into brilliant green eyes. He wants to touch Agron’s face, fingertips on his cheek, but he doesn’t seem to be able to move his arm. In fact, he can’t move anything, caught in a distant fog. It seems to take forever, the pieces not wanting to fit, as Nasir tries to focus and realizes that Agron is crying. 

“Hey baby. Just hold on, okay?” Agron’s voice is wrecked, brittle as he brushes his fingertips along Nasir’s temple. “Come on, try and stay awake for me, okay?”

Nasir can’t get his tongue to work, whines at the desperate crease of Agron’s brow, of the furrow in his mouth. He can’t see the shop anymore, faintly knows he must be in the back of Gannicus’ van. There are others around him, voices loud and quick, frantic and someone is sobbing. There are string lights above them blinking in reds, blues, greens, and gold. It’s like a fucking Christmas tree and all Nasir wants is to brush the tears off Agron’s face. 

“I love you so much.” Agron presses his forehead down into Nasir’s. “Please don’t leave me.”

It’s the last thing Nasir hears before the darkness takes him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who made a playlist for this thing? Check it out on [Spotify!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4WXRoW4aZxApvDupxUVJbv?si=hha4O2r9SQKVLuULMIYLXA)  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will we ever be sick of a hurt/comfort trope? Never.

The dried blood on Agron's hand is starting to flake and crack, the skin tight underneath. It's coated over his knuckles, caught under his fingernails, splotchy on his wrist and over the face of his watch. He can feel it up his left arm, soaked heavy into his shirt, along the curve of his neck. There is a smear on his jaw, curling up towards his ear. He's sure he looks like a fucking nightmare now, hunched low in his seat, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the carnage of his hands. 

It's all Agron can smell, blood and bleach and the stench of sweat. The hospital isn't busy, it's late - nearly one in the morning - but there are enough people around that everything feels raw and too bright. Agron had been pacing, back and forth in a narrow line, but the adrenaline has worn off now. A deep exhaustion has been eating up all his energy, pulling his shoulders down, the frantic, terror replaced by the coiling, unknowable fear.

It's not just Agron though – they make a sight, hunched in the hallway just outside of the emergency room. Spartacus has blood on his arm too, from helping dead lift Nasir off the cement, grimacing every once in a while at his phone. Pietros is slumped in a seat, cried out and eyes bruised, leaning heavily into Barca's side, barely awake. Duro and Auctus are sitting a seat apart next to them, barely looking at each other as Duro leans into Agron’s side, murmuring every once in a while in soft German. Duro had wanted to take Saxa home after she got her stiches, but she had ben swept up by Chadara and that was that. 

Then there is the line of Germans, each with a scowl and a furrow. Nemetes, Lugo, Donar, and Totus make an imposing sprawl, refusing to move. There is no mistaking why they’re here – more muscle, guns and weapons hidden under baggie hoodies and jeans even in the heat. Only Lugo has shifted around, kept his eyes on Agron, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

Finally, Oenomaus and Gannicus stand stoic and silent, leaning so close together their shoulders are brushing. Gannicus had tried to send Oenomaus home after Naevia was released, sporting a new sprained wrist and a wicked black eye. Crixus hadn’t said anything, just kept her close and nodded tightly to Spartacus as he passed by. But Oenomaus had just shook his head, mouth tense. He won’t leave until he knows about Nasir and checks in with Melitta who is the head RN tonight. 

“What the fuck is taking so long?” Agron exhales sharp, fingertips digging into his eyes. They’re dry, sore from crying and straining under the fluorescent lights. 

“It’ll be okay.” Duro rubs his fingertips along Agron’s back, scratching him lightly. “Nasir is strong and we got him here fast.”

Agron wants to ask what if it wasn’t fast enough? They had already been on the road when Pietros’ call had come through, had already been fairly close, but what if it wasn’t enough? When they had pulled up, Agron hadn’t even bothered to turn the Jeep off, just slammed it into gear and was out, rushing in between cars and broken glass. There had been so much blood around Nasir, streamed out from a wad of paper towels, mixing with the oil stains already on the cement. Saxa crumpled beside him, blood gushing from her cheek. Naevia, wide eyed and bruised, staring up at Agron with fear.

He can’t get it out of his head, the dark mark under Nasir’s eye, the smear of blood dripping from his mouth, the way he had barely opened his eyes for Agron. He had been so light in Agron’s arms, so small and loose limbed. Would this be it? Would the last thing they said to each other was said in anger? The last time Agron saw Nasir was this morning, in a silent kitchen, in the middle of what felt like a war zone. Why hadn’t Agron just said he was sorry? Why had he just let Nasir go to work like that?

The creak of sneakers on linoleum brings Agron out of his spiraling, looking up as a nurse with a clipboard comes out from the swinging doors. She has her dark hair pulled up tight from her young face, a nametag on a flower lanyard swinging from the pocket on her pale, green scrubs. She glances slowly around, trying to be nonchalant, but it’s hard to miss the huge group of guys taking up most of the hallway, especially considering that one is completely covered in blood. 

“Um…Ghazali?” She calls, tentative and soft. 

Agron is on his feet before she finished Nasir’s last name, striding quickly towards her. She fights the recoil, pulling the clipboard against her chest. The woman is short enough she has to crane her head back, dark eyes widening as Agron stops a few feet away. 

“Is Nasir okay? What did the doctor say?” Agron asks quickly, trying to keep his racing heart in check. “Can I see him?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” The woman, her nametag reads Diona, shakes her head up at him. “Are you next of kin?”

“What?” Agron feels it like a slap, stopping short. Duro, on his left, draws in a quick breath while Spartacus crosses his arms over his chest. 

“He didn’t have any information on him. I need an emergency contact or a direct relative.” She glances at the three men, then seeming to find the courage, she continues. “Do you have ID?”

“Yes, here.” Agron digs into his pocket, flips his wallet open, yanks out his driver’s license. “I’m Nasir’s partner. He doesn’t have any blood relatives.”

“Hmm.” She takes the plastic between careful fingers, seeming to jot down his name, before holding it back out. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t release medical information to anyone but a relative.”

“He just told you-“ Duro snaps, motioning a hand towards Agron, but Diona shakes her head. 

“It needs to be a blood relative.” 

“He doesn’t have any. He grew up in the system. There is no blood relative.” Agron repeats himself, patience thin. “I’m next of kin. I’m the closest thing he has to next of kin.”

“Romantic relations do not count in regards to release of personal medical information.” Diona says it with a sneer, her words clipped. “Again, it’s policy.”

Agron fights the urge to lash out, rubs a hand into his already disheveled hair. Nasir had been in foster care since was eight years old. There is no one. No one else who has cared, who has loved Nasir. He doesn’t even remember his parents. His family is waiting in this hallway, waiting by phones, praying for his safety. His family is made from things stronger than blood and dna. It’s from sweat and loyalty and hard work – from love. 

“We’ve been waiting for hours.” Duro pulls his phone out, quickly unlocking it. “Would it help if I showed you pictures? Photographic evidence? I have holiday pictures. Birthdays. Cook outs. What do you need to see?”

“Please, Diona,” Spartacs implores, using that calm, level voice that cause people to cave easily to him. “We understand because of HIPAA - it’s a gray area. But can you at least tell us if he’s okay? My friend here has been with Nasir for nearly six years. He really is the closest Nasir has to a relative.”

Diona’s dark eyes slowly track of Agron, judging and slow. He can only imagine what he looks like, half caked in blood with bloodshot eyes and ruffled hair. He’s a big guy and Agron knows he doesn’t look the most welcoming on a good day – but now? He’s sure she’s afraid of him. But how can she not see the desperation? The fear that is crawling up his throat, choking every breath he tries to inhale, the panic stabbing him over and over in his chest? Agron is half a second away from a total meltdown and she’s standing there in Minnie Mouse crocs, seeming unphased. 

“Again, I can’t release information to anyone but a direct relative.” Diona shakes her head slowly. “It’s out of my hands.”

“God fucking damn it!” Agron’s roar echoes down the mostly empty hallway, a few heads turning sharply as he slams his hand into the wall. “Fuck your rules!”

“Agron,” Spartacus tries to sooth, reaching for him, but Agron is quick to shake him off. 

“No, I brought my fucking husband into this hospital nearly ten hours ago, _carried him in my arms_. Felt him fucking fighting to stay alive, to stay awake. I’m covered in his blood after he was brutally attacked.” Agron’s voice cracks, brittle and sharp. “And I’m just fucking asking you to tell me if he made it or not.”

Agron can feel the tears back in his eyes, hot and burning. He rubs at them with the side of his wrist – the mostly clean side. Diona is staring up at him, brows knitted together, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. She had taken a step back when Agron yelled, startled and afraid, but now – she looks almost torn.

“Have you ever held someone you loved and-“ Agron scoffs hard, shaking his head. He can’t get it out. The words are stuck in his throat. All he can see if Nasir’s face at the bar, the tears in his eyes as he stormed out. Felt the gap between them as they slept last night, Nasir wrapped up in sweats and a hoodie, refusing to roll over, refusing to let Agron touch him. The look on his face when he had inevitably woken up wrapped around Agron, pulling away with a sharp frown and cold hands. And all for what? Petty jealousy and Agron’s swarming self loathing?

“We were fighting this morning.” Agron grits out through sharp teeth. “We weren’t talking. And I let him walk out the door and now I’m standing here, asking you, _begging you_ to let me see him.” 

Duro is quick to wrap his arm around Agron, to lock his elbows down and hold tight. Agron could throw him off if he wanted, if he felt like it, but suddenly everything feels so much. It’s too fucking much. And Agron can do little else than stare at her, imploring with watery eyes. Agron doesn’t cry often, not really for anything, but this – it’s Nasir. 

Quick steps come racing down the hall, sneakers on tile, and suddenly Melitta is coming through the swinging doors, eyes wide and frantic. She has her hair back in a tight bun, searching down the hallway until she sees all of them. It’s most likely that she was alerted to the commotion by the panic in her eyes. She doesn’t even greet her husband, by passing him completely, instead comes quickly to Diona’s aid. 

“Diona, can you go take vitals in room four?” Melitta leaves no room for argument, motioning her head towards the door. “I’ve got this.”

“Are you sure? I don’t-“ Diona doesn’t finish her sentence, bobs her head in a quick bow and then flees, looking back over her shoulder just once before disappearing behind the doors. 

Melitta waits another moment, making sure that everyone else left in the hall has returned to their own business, before squaring her shoulders up at Agron. She’s a small woman, barely five five, but her stare is fierce as she levels him with a scathing look. There is compassion there though, a flicker of pain as she takes in the trio, Duro basically keeping Agron on his feet. 

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t scare my new interns.” She doesn’t let him get away with it though. 

“Melitta, please-“ Agron’s hands are shaking, fisted tightly at his side. 

“Take a deep breath, habibi.” Melitta sooths, relents a little, voice soft in the now silent hallway. “You need to calm down or they’re going to call security. If they kick you out, then I won’t be able to take you back to see him.”

“Is he-“ Agron asks, leans out of Duro’s grip, heart racing. 

“He’s okay.” Reaching forward, she lays her cool hand on the clean patch of Agron’s forearm. “He’s out of surgery now and stable.”

“Fuck.” Agron exhales sharp, rubbing a hand into his hair. He sways a little, knees feeling weak from the relief that suddenly courses through him. It’s like him can finally draw a full breath after hours of desperate gasping. 

“I told you. I told you Nasir would pull through.” Duro ¬¬presses his forehead against Agron’s for just a moment before retreating to tell the rest of the group the good news. 

“What all did the doctor say?” Spartacus asks, leaning forward to lowering his voice as the far door opens. 

Glancing up, Melitta smiles warmly at the family currently shuffling in. They’re holding a screaming toddler, the child’s face red and puffy. The mother is frantically trying to pat their back, making soft shushing sounds as the dad shuffles towards the reception desk. He is nearly there when he seems to notice the large group of men, eyes widening. 

“Let’s not do this out here, yeah?” Melitta asks, her expression not wavering even as the mother slowly sinks into the furthest chair from the group. “Do you want me to take you back?”

Agron steps forward, already agreeing, but Melitta doesn’t move until Spartacus gives a small nod, following after them. It’s a matter of respect, of the rights and rules of being part of the Rebel gang. Nasir might be Agron’s heart, but he’s still a member under Spartacus’ rule. If he got attacked in a manner of gang violence, then Spartacus himself needs to see him as well. 

They make their way down a long hallway, passed darkened rooms and abandoned hospital beds, the stench of bleach and disinfectant coiling along the stark walls. There are other nurses walking about, holding charts, talking softly to one another considering the late hour. They take the trio in with weary eyes, guarded and assessing, even as Melitta hurries them along, bringing them to a set of elevators and ushering Agron and Spartacus inside.

The silver doors reflect back on them, the carpeted walls a dark, forest green. There is no denying now the horror that Spartacus and Agron make. Agron has blood everywhere, dried a sickly brown, stuck to his neck, his arms, down his shirt, even onto his jeans. Spartacus isn’t as bad, but there is some on his pants, a smear on his cuff from lifting Nasir. 

“I have to warn you.” Melitta says as they get off on the floor, the lights dimmed along the sleeping rooms. “Nasir has experienced a serious trauma. He is going to take time to heal. Time and a lot of care.”

“But he’ll be alright, right?” Agron asks, tries to swallow the frantic pitch in his voice. 

“He will.” Melitta gently rubs a hand onto Agron’s back. “He is strong and you got him here fast.”

“There was so much blood and-“ Agron stops himself, swallows rough and tries to get control over his expression. It’s still furrowed, still creased in pain as he turns back to Melitta. “I’ll do whatever I need to make sure he heals.”

“What all were his injuries?” Spartacus asks as they finally stop before a door. The blinds are shut tight, blocking the view of the hospital bed within. 

Pulling the chart off the rack, Melitta flips open the top page, glancing over it. 

“He was stabbed twice. Once between his fifth and sixth rib on the left, once between his sixth and seventh rib.” She reads off, tone neutral and quick, professional. “The second stab wound was done at a force that it fractured the bones and caused the tip of the knife to break off, lodging in the tissue. The doctor was able to remove it with surgery.”

“Fuck.” Agron inhales sharp, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. “What the fuck?”

“Who ever did this,” Melitta looks up slowly, worrying her bottom lip, “they wanted it to hurt. The second time, the knife was twisted. If it had been an inch higher, it would have pierced his lung.”

Agron recoils, eyes going wide and a little crazy, his hands shaking where they’re buried in his sides. Spartacus is quick to step forward, laying a hand on his shoulder. It’s as much as a comfort as it is a command. There is nothing that can be done at one in the morning. The priority is Nasir right now, revenge will come later. 

“And anything else?” Spartacus asks, nodding her along. 

“A fracture to his sixth and seventh rib,” Melitta flips the chart closed. “Lots of bruises. A split lip. But for the most part, if what Naevia and Saxa said is true, he held his own.”

“He’s a very good fighter.” Agron nods tightly, teeth clenched hard enough his jaw is aching. “He’s always been.”

Melitta smiles warmly at him, reaching out to gently touch his arm again. She hadn’t been eager when Oenomaus had joined the Rebels, especially considering the violence and crime that came along with it. But there is no denying the heart that also courses through the gang, spurred on by loyalty to Spartacus and love for one another. Melitta knows the terrible things that these men have done, things that should make her recoil, but all she can see in this moment is a desperate man, terrified of losing a huge part of himself. 

“He just got out of surgery, so he’s pretty drugged up.” Melitta explains. “But I know if he was awake, he would be asking for you.”

“Can I-“ Agron hesitates, “I don’t want to disturb him.”

“Go.” Melitta reaches out, pushing down the handle and letting the weight of the door swing in. Agron is quick to step inside the door frame, pausing when he takes in the scene before him. 

There is a dim light on above the bed, golden and warm, making the white walls appear not so stark. A large screen is propped in one corner, the heart line jumping and quietly beeping. The cord leads down, looped over the top of the bed near the IV stand, the bag half empty and dripping steadily into the feed. Both disappear under the pale blankets, attached to where Nasir is laying on his back. 

No one has ever accused Nasir of being a large man, but in this huge hospital bed, hooked up to the machines, he looks incredibly small. The hospital gown he’s wearing is pale green and blue checkers, loose and billowy around his shoulders and arms, the tie trailing at his shoulder. Someone has been kind enough to let his hair down, washing the blood off his face and temples, and it falls around his face in loose waves. 

Whatever Melitta and Spartacus are murmuring to each other is forgotten as Agron steps further into the room, coming to a full halt as Nasir’s side. Now that he’s closer, he can see the real damage – the ramifications of the attack. There is a nasty, dark purple bruise high on Nasir’s right cheek, disappearing into his hair – clearly from a fist. His bottom lip is split on the side too, a thick looking scab crusted up there. Through the gap of the gown, Agron can also see the gauze and tape hiding his wound and keeping his ribs compressed. 

“We’re going to find the guys who did this.” Spartacus’ voice seems suddenly so loud in the otherwise quiet room, stepping in through the doorway as Melitta hurries off. “I promise you, Agron, we will.”

“I want them fucking dead.” Agron grits out through his teeth, the growl slurring the words together. “I want my hands around their fucking necks.”

“I’ll find them for you.” Spartacus slips his hand onto Agron’s shoulder, squeezing firmly. “For both of you.”

“I’m not leaving him.” Agron suddenly turns, brow furrowed. “I’m staying until he wakes up. Until I can take him home.”

“I figured.” Spartacus nods. “I’ll take care of the rest, okay?” 

Agron nods once, using his free hand to slap his fist against his shoulder. Spartacus doesn’t leave it at that though, leans in and wraps his arm around Agron’s shoulders, hugs him tight and roughly to his chest. It only takes half a moment before Agron is leans into it, returning it with an arm slung around Spartacus’ back. He feels exhausted, wrung dry, but still tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, burning hot and vicious. 

“Whatever is going on between the two of you,” Spartacus murmurs, his face lost in the bulk of Agron’s shoulder, “you’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

“Or else?” Agron tries to laugh, but the sound is broken, choked off. It gets all fucked in his throat. 

“Agron.” Pulling back, Spartacus cups Agron’s face between his hands, forcing the taller man to look at him. “You are a good man. You always have been. And Nasir loves you – probably more than you even realize.”

Agron scoffs hard, trying to shake his head but Spartacus won’t let him, keeps him looking forward and down. 

“Trust him when he tells you he wants to stay, wants to be with you, with us.” Spartacus speaks softly. It’s just them now and Nasir’s soft breathing behind them. Spartacus may be the Rebel King but he was Agron’s best friend first. “Because you know, just like I do, that if Nasir really wanted it some other way – he’d be gone by now. There isn’t anything that can hold him back.”

“Yeah,” Agron sighs deeply, glancing over his boyfriend. “He’s a little spitfire.”

“He is.” Spartacus agrees warmly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Agron’s back. “A wild, little dog. So, stop second guessing it. Be here for him, now. Talk it out when he can. And move forward.” Spartacus gives him a little pat. “No one asked you to be a martyr, okay?”

“Okay.” Agron smiles then, brief and fleeting, but still there. “Yeah.”

“Sit down and take a deep breath.” Spartacus commands, pointing to the vacant chair next to the bed. “I’ve got it. I’ll send someone back with some clothes, okay?”

He waits until Agron gives a faint nod before turning and slipping out into the dark hall. 

Sinking into the chair beside the bed, Agron reaches out, careful and slow, as he picks Nasir’s hand up. There is still engine grease on it, blood under his nails, a faint impression of his rings that were probably removed before surgery. Pressing a kiss against his knuckles, Agron holds his cheek there, staring up at Nasir’s calm and sleeping face. Even under all of it, the bruises and blood, he’s the most beautiful thing that Agron has ever seen. 

\- - - 

Duro has a one-bedroom apartment over on Prussia Avenue, about eight blocks away from Agron and Nasir’s house. It’s located in a sagging, red brick building with a dozen or so other apartments crammed into it’s four stories. There is water damage in the hallways, the tiles faded and chipped from age and use, a coiling stench of something – curry and sewage – seeping in along the stairwell. Duro’s apartment itself has leaky windows and a suspicious stain in one of the ceiling tiles, shoved back in the far left corner over-looking a long alleyway. It’s no wonder then that he spends a lot of his free time over at his brother’s. 

They used to all share an apartment – Agron, Nasir, Duro, and Lugo with sometimes Gannicus when it would snow – a three bedroom on the other side of the Southend. It wasn’t much nicer, but it was bigger, with an actual bathtub and radiators that didn’t bang quiet as loud. Duro hadn’t minded it that much, the constant business of having so many bodies around, the coming and goings of different schedules. There was always someone cooking, someone sleeping, something on the television. 

And when there wasn’t, when it was late and too fucking quiet, Duro had let Agron purchase him a pair of noise canceling headphones – the good, name brand kind – and that helped a lot. Especially considering he shared the only wall with Agron and Nasir. Duro also got really good at reading the signs – knowing when he should slink out of sight before he saw something he didn’t want to. 

In the end though, Duro can’t exactly blame them for moving out. It’s hard to keep a relationship together when you constantly have someone popping up to interrupt you – even simple, downtime had turned into a big thing. Besides, they bought a huge house much closer to the Nickle – which means Duro basically has a free pass to visit whenever he wants. Even if he thinks it drives Nasir crazy.

Now though, poised outside of the front door as he rummages through his pockets for his keys, it feels almost strange. Usually when he comes over, the lights are on, music playing or the warm aroma of food wafting around him as Duro would open the door. At the very least, when he makes a surprise visit, he finds one if not both of them, sprawled out on the couch, watching a movie or one of those ghost shows. 

Instead, it’s dark inside, only the neon blue light from the microwave glowing eerily from the kitchen, all the way across the house. Duro has to feel along the wall for the light switches, manages to flip the one that turns on the lamps in the living room, illuminating the space into a warm glow. He holds the door open long enough for Nemetes to slip inside, his gaze careful and assessing, before Duro is quick to lock it behind himself. 

“I’m going to go up and grab them some clothes and some shit. You want to do a sweep down here?” Duro asks, already heading towards the stairs. "Check all the doors and shit. I'm sure Agron didn't leave anything open but, ya know."

“You sure you don’t want to switch?” Nemetes is quick to reply, taking a step towards where Duro is already up a few. "I don't mind."

“Nah man,” Duro scoffs, shaking his head. “I know where everything is at and Spartacus told me to make them up a bag.”

“It’s clothes. How hard can it be?” Nemetes tries to laugh it off, moving to slip by, but Duro sets his hand down on the banister cap, blocking him. 

“I appreciate it." Duro says it slowly, tries for nonchalant as he tracks over Nemetes' face. "But you know how Ags gets - bitchy and particular about shit when it comes to Nasir. Just check around down here and I'll be back in a sec."

Nemetes smiles, tight lipped and thin for a moment, before it morphs into a careless little grin. He shrugs, stumbles back off the landing and heads towards the kichen with a shrug, beginning to whistle some German drinking game. Duro watches him go, slinking into the shadows at the back of the house. It's not like Nemetes and Duro have ever been particularly close. They're friends, sure, but more by force than by affection. Nemetes just showed up one day at the Nickle, dumb but German, so Agron gave him a job and that was that. 

Nemetes is the type of guy that is good for filling out a party, being in the back up in a fight, an extra body without a lot of critical thinking. He's a drunk and a cheat and a little too vulgar for normal conversation. There isn't really a reason to cut him off though, to turn him out. Agron will snap, growl out a threat, but Nemetes only gets better for a little bit. He's a victim to his own vices. Doesn't explain the weird behavior, especially considering that Nemetes isn't exactly on Agron's good side right now. 

Duro makes his way up the stairs, flips the bedroom light on. It's weird to be in here, invasive, even though there is nothing necessarily strange about the room. Their king size is made, the crimson comforter tucked in under at least eight pillows, half of which look entirely decorative. There is a thick book about Al-Farabi on one of the nightstands, the edges covered in bright little tabs and a large candle nearby. On a shelf between the two large windows, there are a number of gold picture frames, little snapshots of Agron and Nasir pressed together, laughing or kissing. Duro doesn't linger on them, has seen them before, heads towards the dresser instead. 

He's quick with pulling open the drawers, yanks out a pair of sweats for Nasir, a loose tank top, grabs what he hopes is a full outfit for Agron. Then, pausing, he rethinks it and makes sure that Nasir has the most worn in sweats he can find, a comfy, soft shirt with a flannel too. It's summer but Agron's always been picky about Nasir, wants him comfortable, wants him safe. Duro knows he won't hear the end of it if he doesn't bring something perfect, something with intent. 

Making his way over to the bed, Duro has to crouch down, starts unplugging the phone chargers, slipping Agron's gun into the fold of his pants. He hopefully won't need it in the hospital, won't need to be armed and fearful, but Duro knows it will make him feel better. He's pointedly ignoring the half bottle of lube he finds wedged between the edge of a nightstand and the bedframe, probably forgotten in the heat of the moment, when the floorboards outside the door creaks. 

"Damn," Nemetes is leaning in the frame, a beer clutched in his hand. "I didn't realize how nice this house is. I don’t think I’ve ever been allowed upstairs. Upstairs and sober."

"Are you drinking a Löwenbräu?" Duro asks, craning his head as he sits up. "Agron is going to kill you if he finds out. You know he imports that shit, right?"

"Yeah well," Nemetes shakes the bottle a little. "What he doesn't know, won’t piss him off. Not like he doesn't have a fridge full of them. One bottle isn’t gonna break him."

“It’s about respect. We’re in his fucking house, man.” Duro tries to keep the offense out of his voice. It's not a secret that the Giesler brothers are incredibly protective of one another. "He works hard for it."

"Yeah." Nemetes takes a slow drink, stepping further into the room to look closer. There really isn’t that much to look at. It’s a bedroom. But Nemetes tracks over it like he’s looking for something, asseses the painting on one wall, the charmed evil eye over the doorframe. Sighing deeply, he moves over to the dresser, free hand riffling through a tangle of necklaces there, a glass pipe, a pile of loose change. "Doesn't make sense though. A three-bedroom house? A huge ass bed? Fucking foreign beer? Where the fuck is he getting all this money?"

"What do you mean?" Duro makes his way to his feet, carefully setting the bundle of clothes onto the foot of the bed. "Agron and Nasir both work, like constantly. If they're not, then they’re on Spartacus' payroll. Plus, they've been saving since like fucking high school."

"I guess." Nemetes rolls his eyes back to Duro, “Just seems a little suspect, huh? I know you sure as hell aren’t living in fucking luxury.”

“I’m happy for them.” Duro tries hard not to grit his teeth, pulls his shoulders back instead. “My brother deserves nice things.”

“And what about you?” Humming, Nemetes lets his gaze slide up from the tips of Duro's beat up sneakers to his curls, tangled and messy. "Heard you and Auctus broke up?"

Duro tries to fight the recoil but he can't help the way he twitches back, knees digging into the mattress. How the fuck does Nemetes know about it? It barely happened last night and Duro sure as hell isn't going to fucking talk to Nemetes of all people. It’s too new, too fucking raw. The knowledge of it, the pain, has been clawing at his throat all day – shoved into the back of his mind by everything else that is going on.

"We're dealing with some shit." Duro manages to choke out, folding his arms over his chest. "What's it to you?"

"I'm not trying to be a dick." Nemetes raises his hands, turns from the dresser to set his beer on it. He starts walking towards Duro as he talks, slow but meaningful. "Just trying to offer you an alternative."

"An alternative?" Duro stammers, brows raising. He can't back up, stuck leaning into the mattress, trying to keep his legs straight. 

"Yeah, why not? It doesn't have to mean anything." Nemetes drops his gaze, works it up again from Duro's waist, stares through his eyelashes. "No one is here. They won't know. Be a shame to put this big bed to waste."

"Wh-What?" Duro scoffs, shaking his head slowly. "Are you serious right now?"

"Why not?" Nemetes draws close, close enough to run his fingers along Duro's belt. "You got any real objections? It's just sex. Probably make you feel better too. Fuck Auctus. Fuck all of them. Take something you want for once. Instead of always living in Agron’s shadow."

Duro can't get a full breath in, staring at Nemetes with his mouth half open. He's not sure how the fuck they got here. One moment, Duro is worried on what he’s forgotten to pack for Agron and the next, he’s being propositioned? It's not like he's thought of Nemetes like this. Like ever. This is the guy who fucking sits on a bucket in the kitchen watching football, sneaking smokes out the backdoor, gets drunk and passes out at parties or at the very least, get belligerent enough to start a brawl. He's greasy, smells like fucking Camel menthols, a cocky tilt to his head. 

And like, Duro isn't going to fuck someone in Agron's bed. In _Agron and Nasir's_ bed. It's basically their marriage bed, for christ’s sake! In their fucking house while both of them are stuck in a hospital half an hour away. And what is Duro supposed to do? Get fucked in here, use their lube, act like that's fucking normal?

“Nah man.” Duro recoils enough to slip along the mattress, shaking his head. “I appreciate it but I’m good.”

“You sure?” Nemetes asks, lets his hand slide along the top of the nightstand. “I’m sure they have some fun shit in here.”

Duro can’t keep his face neutral, nose wrinkling as he scowls. The _last fucking thing_ Duro wants to do is open his brother’s bedside drawer. What the fuck? Where is this all coming from? Nemetes has always been the type of guy to shack up with any girl who would give him the time of day. He’s not exactly a looker or really has that much going for him. So, whatever game this is, it can’t be that fucking good. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” Duro waves a hand, turning away, making it look like he’s going to rummage through the closet. “Why don’t you go finish that beer downstairs? I’ll only be a minute.”

“Your loss.” Nemetes’ laughs high and loud, the click of his bottle leaving the dresser sounding loud and sharp in the otherwise still room. 

Duro stands there staring at the hanging clothes, the boots and sneakers lined up against one another, the Winchester 12 gauge leaning up against the corner. This house is an enigma. Everywhere is art and design and little touches that Duro is sure Nasir literally has slaved over. And then there is the arsenal of weapons, hidden among the large books and under the furniture. There are reinforced locks on all the doors, a fucking pair of brass knuckles leaning against the lamp on the nightstand. This isn’t just a house, it’s a fucking fortress. 

He waits until he hears Nemetes hit the ground floor, his footsteps muffled when he gets to the rug. There isn’t enough time to really unpack all of what just happened. He wasn’t sent here to lollygag, told specifically by Spartacus to go to the house and get shit together. Agron is stuck at the hospital, covered in blood. The least Duro can do is bring him some shit. Reaching up to one of the top shelves, he manages to find a duffle, stuffing the clothes and chargers and weapon deep within the bag. 

Hurrying down the steps, Duro finds Nemetes lingering in the kitchen, fiddling with the padlock on the basement door. It had been put there under Nasir’s insistence, used six inch wood screws to secure the thing in place. There is too much valuable shit down there for it to just be open anytime. 

“What are you doing?” Duro asks, noticing the second bottle of beer now nearly empty in Nemetes’ hand. 

“You told me to do a sweep.” Nemetes shrugs, quick to step away from the wall. “I checked everything. All the windows. Left the light on in the living room. Just had to lock up the basement. Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, sure. Why don’t you head out?” Duro waves a hand towards the front door. “I’m gonna head over to the hospital.”

“You don’t want me to stay? Guard the house while they’re out?” Nemetes asks, urgent and quick. “I don’t mind. My place is kinda far. I can crash on the couch until they get back.”

“No.” Duro finds himself saying it sharper than he intends, quick to try and sooth the bite with a careless shrug of his shoulders. “It’s chill. I’m probably gonna crash here tonight. Someone has to open the Nickle tomorrow, right?”

“Right.” Nemetes draws the words out, leaving his bottle on the counter as he slinks towards the front door. “You sure you don’t want company?”

“Nah. Goodnight.” Duro raises a hand in a half aborted wave, feet glued to the spot. He doesn’t untense until he hears Nemetes shoes leave the front porch, the whine of the front gate opening and then slamming shut. 

“ _What the fuck?_ ” Duro marvels to the empty house, slinging the bag over his shoulder. He’ll think about it on the way to the hospital. He doesn’t have the time to linger here.

\- - - 

Nasir wakes up slowly, pulled out of unconsciousness in waves. He feels his feet first, knows he’s laying down by the scratch of a blanket along his bare legs. To the left of him, he can hear the soft beeping of something – a machine? It takes such all his strength to open his eyes, vision blurry but clearing slowly. The room he’s in is golden, awash in pale light. He can make out the outline of a steel door, a blank, dark television mounted on the wall. It’s when he tries to move his hands, fingers wiggling, that he feels the weight. 

Agron is half hunched over the bed, his temple resting in the center of Nasir’s thigh, fast asleep. He’s tangled his fingers with Nasir’s, holds his hand loosely but close. In the dim light, Nasir can make out the dark bruises under Agron’s eyes – red and raw looking, the evidence of crying. He has dried blood under his ear, flaking like it was scrubbed at but not very well. With the angle he’s contorted, it can’t be comfortable, his chest digging into the metal of the side of the bed. 

Chest warm, Nasir lets himself linger, lets himself look over the curve of Agron’s eyebrow, of the soft bow of his lips. He’s never felt like this about anyone else. Nasir doesn’t think he ever will. All of his heart, his entire love, is all for Agron. And now, it all seems so pointless, the yelling and fighting from before. It doesn’t really matter. All that matters is this – both of them safe, Agron’s face relaxed in sleep. It only lasts a minute, a single breath, before Nasir’s fingers twitch and sudden Agron’s eyes are snapping open. 

He looks frantic as he’s pulled from sleep, fear and panic coiling his expression until he sees Nasir staring back at him. Agron might not be prone to saying the words, but his face always gives him away. He stares at Nasir with wide, bloodshot eyes, his cheek pressed firmly still to Nasir’s thigh. It’s like he can’t settle, gaze flitting over Nasir’s face, his chest, his body, before going back once again to his eyes. 

“ _Hayati_.” Nasir smiles, raises one of his fingers from the back of Agron’s hand to gently touch his cheek. 

“Hey.” Agron exhales short, tries to smile but it’s brittle and weak, doesn’t reach all the way. There are tears gathering in the corners of Agron’s eyes, the green vivid and wet.

Humming in distress, Nasir moves to slip his hand free, tries to cup Agron’s cheek but he can’t reach. The drugs must be good, because when Nasir tries to sit up, the pain is dull, radiating from his side enough that he catches his breath. He knows it’s going to be worse – a cracked rib maybe with the stab wound? He doesn’t know but Agron is suddenly there, leaning up to press a hand into Nasir’s shoulder. He guides him back into the hospital bed with a firm hold, pinning him as if Nasir is going to fight it. 

“Lay still.” Agron insists, fingers gentle as they push the hair back from Nasir’s face. “Just relax.”

“Don’t cry.” Nasir feels cotton mouthed, the words dry and jumbled, but Agron seems to get them. He wipes roughly at his eyes, leans in to press a kiss to Nasir’s hair and hide his face. “I’m okay.”

“I almost lost you.” Agron murmurs, nudges down until he can rest his forehead against Nasir’s. His breath is warm, ghosting over Nasir’s mouth. “Pietros called and he was bluetoothing through the speakers and I could-“ Agron chokes on the words, fights to get them out between gritted teeth. 

“I could hear you screaming.”

It burns but Nasir raises his arms, uses his hands to cup Agron’s face. His fingers are wet from the tears that Agron is trying hard to keep back, slip along his cheeks and jaw. The stubble is rough, a day old, but it doesn’t stop him from caressing, from trying to comfort. Nasir has never seen him this upset, never felt him shaking this hard. He wants to pull him onto the bed, wants to wrap him up and keep his safe, far away from all the shit and horror. 

“I could hear you screaming while he was _fucking stabbing you_ and I wasn’t there and I should have been there. I should have been there to protect you.” Agron grits through his teeth, turns this head to kiss Nasir’s palm. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry baby.”

“Hey, hey.” Nasir leans in, presses his mouth gently to Agron’s. It’s barely a kiss, just the pressing of lips and gasping breath. “I’m okay. This isn’t your fault.”

“I’m gonna get them.” Agron swears, drawing back so he can meet Nasir’s eyes. “I’ll make them pay for this. I don’t care what it takes.”

“We’ll get them together.” Nasir brushes his thumb along the sharp cut of Agron’s cheekbone, wiping away a stray tear. 

“I promised you.” Agron presses a kiss to the center of Nasir’s palm. “When we started all this shit, I promised you that you would be safe. That you were making the right choice by joining us, by being a Rebel. I never wanted anything to happen to you.”

“It’s not you, Agron, it’s not. You’re so good. You’re so good to me.” Nasir reassures, leaning into Agron’s touch. “The Romans attack whenever they want. Who ever they want. The shop has a giant red snake in the window. We were just easy targets. I don’t even know who they were. I didn’t recognize them at all.”

“He stabbed you. Twice.” Agron flinches, lets his hand slide down to linger over where the bandages are white and taped to Nasir’s ribs. “Fuck. He broke your fucking ribs.”

“I’m okay, babe. I’m okay. It’ll be okay.”

Petting his fingers along Agron’s jaw, Nasir smiles faintly up at him. The drugs are making everything feel slow, hazy, and Nasir is trying to concentrate, but it’s hard. He’s living on sensation. Can feel the dull ache of his side, the stretch and burn of his bottom lip. He has no idea how he must look, but it must be bad if Agron keeps his hands careful, still just behind Nasir’s ears. 

“Lay down with me?” Nasir asks, tries to keep his grip on Agron. He just wants him close, close enough to feel him breathing, to hear his heartbeat under Nasir’s ear. 

“I shouldn’t-“ Agron pulls back, looks at the wires and cords attaching Nasir to the machines. “You need to rest.”

“You know I don’t sleep well in an empty bed.” Nasir answers, flips down the edge of the blanket. “Come hold me.”

How can Agron possibly say no to that? It takes some rearranging. He has to help Nasir, basically lifts him to scoot him over, rolls him onto his good side so that Agron can slip up onto the mattress. It’s a big bed but it’s still a tight fit, two grown men trying to rearrange on a twin size. In the end, Nasir is mostly laying on top of Agron, curled up with his head tucked into his shoulder, arms curled up between their chests. Agron lets Nasir lean into him, settles so their foreheads are pressed together. It feels better this way, erasing the space, reassured that they’re together and whole. 

“Agron,” Nasir whispers, eyes shut, nose gently brushing Agron’s in soft bunny kisses. “About what happened…the fight-“

“We don’t have to talk about it now.” Agron sooths, runs his fingers through Nasir’s hair, caresses his palm down his spine. 

The warmth of having Agron against him and the haze of the drugs has Nasir relaxing back into semi-consciousness. He can feel Agron’s breath on his face, smell cologne and sweat, a hint of old blood. It’s easy to relax in the comfort of the familiar, no space between them, just the warm glow of the hospital light and the steady beep of the heart monitor. Nasir curls his fingers with Agron’s, keeps them pressed close against his face, laid close and entwined. 

It hurts to think about what has happened, about all the steps that led up to this moment. He doesn’t know how to say the words, he doesn’t know how to ask. Nasir feels choked with it, but he can’t lay here, can’t let the drugs and warmth of Agron being close, lull him back to sleep. There are just too many questions, too many fears that coil tight around Nasir’s chest. 

“Are we done?” Nasir’s voice is quiet, whispering within an exhale. 

Fingertips trailing down Nasir’s jaw, Agron tips Nasir’s face up, stares at him for a moment with a careful gaze, green eyes glinting in the pale light. It says so much without saying words at all, suspended in a language that only they know. Leaning in, Agron presses their lips together. It’s a slow kiss, mouths molding together even as their lips stay closed. There is no denying the emotion behind it – tangent in the air as they pull apart enough to breath, mouths still brushing. 

“I’m never going to be done with you.” Agron confesses, his hands warm and large on Nasir’s face. “I want you forever. And past that. For eternity.”

“I love you.” Nasir nuzzles his nose against Agron’s, kisses him slow and sweet. 

“Love you so much.” Agron murmurs against Nasir’s mouth. He kisses him again and again, can’t stop, hands gentle as they brush over Nasir’s back, his thigh, caressing his face. 

“You have to trust me when I say that,” Nasir laps over his bottom lip, leans back so he can see Agron’s face again. “Believe me when I tell you I love you and I want to be with you. I want to be a Rebel and a mechanic and some tech guy that works in a basement in the house that I bought with the man I love. I made my choice. I don’t regret it, so don’t regret it for me.”

“What if you change your mind?” Agron smooths his thumb over Nasir’s mouth, gentle on the scab there. “What if you want to leave but I didn’t give you an out? What if you look back and hate me for this?”

“I don’t want a way out.” Nasir leans in, kisses Agron again because he can’t seem to stop. “I make my choices. I make my life out the way that I want it to be. I wouldn’t change any of it.”

“But-“ Agron moves to protest, shaking his head, but Nasir stops him, hand cupping his jaw. 

“I wouldn’t change any of it.” Nasir repeats, slowly pausing with each word. “I wouldn’t change Spartacus recruiting me. I wouldn’t change all the times I hacked into shit or committed crimes to make us better, to save lives, to hurt the Romans. And I sure as hell wouldn’t change anything with you.” 

Nasir brushes the tip of his nose against Agron’s before continuing. 

“You are my first and only love, Agron Giesler. My entire heart is yours. So, you better just accept it and let us have an epic love story, okay?”

“How can I say no to that?” Agron grins wide, dimples denting his cheeks as he leans in again for another kiss. 

There is no rush. Time stretched thin and looping in a liminal space like this. Agron takes his time, kisses slow and open, tastes Nasir’s mouth and revels in the warmth of his breath. A few hours ago, he had thought he lost everything. The fear coiled deep, festered into agony of thinking he would never have this again – never have Nasir warm and pliant in his arms, soft and tasting while the world tilts and melts around them. 

“For the record though.” Slipping back, Agron brushes a stray hair from Nasir’s cheek. “I’ve always believed in you. I just never wanted you to waste all of your talent.”

“I’m not. I’m choosing my way to use it and my own path.” Nasir sighs, relaxes into the meat of Agron’s bicep, trying hard to keep from yawning. 

“I am honored to walk beside you then.” Agron leans in, presses a kiss to Nasir’s forehead, just between his eyebrows. “Now, I really think you should sleep.”

“Are you staying?” Nasir can feel his eyes growing heavy, a side effect of the drugs and the late hour. 

“Always.” Agron promises, rests their foreheads together as Nasir swims on the edges of unconsciousness. “Rest, _schatzi_ , I’ll keep you safe.”

Agron doesn't let himself sleep until Nasir does, doesn't relax until his breaths even out, ghosting along Agron's collarbone. The world outside is dangerous, is full of vile men and evil intentions. But here, cocooned under blankets, feeling Nasir's bare legs brush against his, Agron can be in control. He is armed, ready to fight anything that would try and come at them. Nasir might be playing offense in trying to hack into the Roman's plans, to take them out with secrets and ploys, but that has never been Agron's way. He has always been the abrupt type, the snarling dog with bloodied teeth, and it's been a long time since Spartacus dropped his leash. Turned a blind eye and let Agron and all his wrath free.


	8. Chapter 8

The car slowly rolls to a stop, tires bumping the curb. It's just after five, the sun still lingering large and bright in the west. It's enough that shadows are starting to creep along the low eaves of the houses, making dark windows yawn and loom from the street. No one is around, just the scuttle of trash in the gutter blow around by a warm breeze.

Agron shifts into park, turns the engine off, and then just sits, glancing up at their home. They've been gone nearly a week, waiting for the wounds to heal enough that Nasir can stand - though somewhat hunched from not pulling on the stiches. Nothing has changed, the neon advertisements shoved in the curls of their fence, the weeds peeking up from the cracks in the walkway. Only Duro has been over, mostly to collect the mail and water the plants, switch some lights on. 

"I'm thinking shower. Definitely hot shower." Nasir picks up a loose chunk of his hair, wrinkling his nose as it lays limp against his fingers. "And then Chinese and then the longest nap of my life in our bed."

"I can make that happen." Agron reaches over, unbuckles Nasir's seatbelt for him. Melitta has given strict rules on what he’s allowed to do, and any twisting or bending is off the list. "You want orange chicken?"

"Ugh! Yes." Groaning, Nasir opens the car door, swinging his legs out. Every time he moves, pain ricochets through him, making Nasir hiss through his teeth. "And spring rolls. And a Philly roll. And maybe some-"

"Vegetable lo mein? Extra duck sauce on the side?" Agron finishes, making his way around the car with the sharp beep of the lock. 

"And oolong please?" Tilting his head back, Nasir hides the grimace from standing up by puckering for a kiss instead. Agron doesn't even try and resist, cups his cheek and gives him one soft kiss before wrapping his arm around his shoulders, guiding Nasir towards the house. 

It takes a moment to get the two deadbolts and then knob lock undone. The front door creaks open with a low groan, afternoon sunshine spilling in over the entryway rug. It illuminates the mylar of at least a two dozen balloons scattered around the dining room, living room area, each attached to a large vase of flowers. In the lounge chair sits a large, honey colored teddy bear, it's head and arm bandaged. It's wearing a red 'Get Well Soon' t-shirt as well, the letters looped into a heart. 

"They wanted to bombard you at the hospital, but I think Spartacus wouldn't let them." Agron explains, his hand warm on Nasir's lower back as he guides him inside, shutting and locking the front door. 

"Wha...How..." Turning in a slow circle, Nasir takes it all in with wide eyes. "Who did all this?"

"The usual gang. I'm pretty sure Duro let everyone in," Agron grins, tossing his keys on the side table. "Though, the six pounds of German fudge in the fridge is explicitly from Lugo. Old Oma recipe. He made me swear I wouldn't have any of it until you tried it."

"Six pounds?" Nasir exclaims, pausing where he's kicking his shoes off. "What are we going to do with six pounds of fudge?"

"Eat it." Shrugging, Agron steps behind him, brushing Nasir's hair out of the way to drop a kiss on his neck. "I didn't get to tell you the best part."

"Which is?" Fighting the shudder, Nasir leans back into the touch. It's not going to do him any good to get turned on. He can barely move, let alone take that sort of attention. 

"There is also a sheet pan of brownies from Gannicus." Agron hides his grin in another kiss, feeling it when realization slowly takes over Nasir. "Made special for you." 

"For me?" Glancing over his shoulder, Nasir's eyes have gone wide again. "Are you telling me Gannicus made me kush brownies?"

"High grade too." Agron nods, leaning in to peck Nasir's gaping mouth. "Promised to be better than whatever Melitta gave you."

"Okay. New plan." Rotating, Nasir is careful as he leans into Agron. "Shower. Then Chinese. Then desert. Then the longest nap in the world in our bed."

"Good plan." Bumping their foreheads together, Agron motions towards the stairs. "You good to go up them by yourself?"

"You offering to carry me?" Nasir grins, batting his eyes up at Agron. 

"I carried you across the threshold when we bought the house." Agron turns them, keeps his hand steady and warm on Nasir's waist as they start towards the stairs. "And I'm pretty sure I've picked you up and pinned you against every wall in here too. So."

"Yes, my big strong man." Nasir giggles, grimacing sharp as he takes the first step and it jostles his side. Agron is instantly against his back, keeping a steadying hand on his elbow. 

"Take it slow, baby." Murmuring, Agron helps support Nasir's weight as he shuffles up another step. "No rush. I've got you."

"Fuck!" Choking out the word, Nasir tries to keep his left side as still as possible as he makes his way up the rest of the stairs. "This hurts so fucking bad! Ugh. Fuck that Roman shithead."

"I know. I know it does. Let's get cleaned up and eat and then you can take some more meds." Agron soothes, helps guide Nasir down the hall and finally into their bedroom. 

Duro was smart enough to bring Nasir a flannel at the hospital, so Agron gets to work on the buttons first, taking his time so he doesn't brush against any bruises. He's probably undressed Nasir over a thousand times now, but Agron's fingers tremble as he works one tortoiseshell button out after another. Nasir stands still and watches, gets to see Agron's expression flicker as he pushes the shirt off, only to reveal the large gauze pad on Nasir's side, held in place by tape, the dozen or so dark bruises on Nasir's sides, his chest, his stomach. 

"Hey." Feeling the shift in mood, Nasir is quick to wrap his hands around Agron's wrists, to make him focus and steady. "I'm alright, okay? I'm here. I'm healing."

"I don't ever want to be that scared again." Agron confesses, voice thick. "When I saw you lying there, in all that blood, I thought-"

"I know. It's over now though." Nasir leans in, kisses Agron slow and gentle. He can’t seem to stop, needs to feel Agron close at all times. "I'm right here. I’m not going anywhere."

Agron doesn’t answer him, just leaves Nasir standing there and disappears across the hall and into the bathroom. There is the sound of shuffling, of the bathroom cabinets being opened and shut, a curse in German. Nasir lets it soak into him, the normalcy of it, the quiet track of their home. There is a balm to being content, a soothing sort of hum that fills Nasir up, overflows until he’s smiling a little. No matter what happens, they can’t take this away from him. The safety of being home and being with his heart. 

Agron comes back with a trash bag and medical tape, motioning for Nasir to come stand beside the dresser. With a hand braced up on the wooden top, Nasir avoids the mirror and instead watches as Agron kneels before him, brow set low in concentration. It’s methodical, careful cuts to the plastic as he holds it up over the gauze pad on Nasir’s side. From this angle, the dark bruises under Agron’s exhausted eyes look violent and red, his chin covered in a scruff that is verging on full beard. Nasir lets his free hand raise up, traces his fingers along the cut of Agron’s jaw. 

“I think you missed your calling as a nurse.” Nasir tries to tease, his voice faint as he grips the top of the wood. 

“You think?” Agron raises an eyebrow at him, tipping his head back as he smooths a strip of tape along Nasir’s waist. “I think my bedside manner might be lacking.”

“Hmm,” Nasir considers, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t know about that. As your first real patient, I think I’m entitled to judge you. And you are being incredibly gentle with me.”

“I’ll always be gentle with you.” Agron gives Nasir one of those rare smiles, the type that curls slow from his mouth, dimples denting his cheeks. He hides it a moment later by pressing a fleeting kiss to his stomach, light enough it barely tickles before it is gone.

“Come on, _schatzi_.”He stands up before Nasir can figure out the words he wants to say, motions with his head. “We’ll be careful.”

Their shower isn't huge but anything is better than the tiny stalls at the hospital. Agron keeps the water warm but not hot, careful to not provoke any of Nasir's bruises or scrapes. Taking the softest washcloth he can find, Agron is diligent in his tasks, sliding the soap and suds over Nasir’s body – methodical and slow. There is still dried blood on Nasir's skin, caked under his nails, some in his hair. Agron pays particular attention there, massaging his fingers along Nasir's scalp until the other man's eyes flutter closed. It’s something Agron loves doing, even without the need.

Nasir can't really raise his arms, keeps his hands on Agron's sides, his legs, his hips. He just wants to touch, wants to be grounded by it, wants to watch the trail of water over Agron's body, down along his abs, between his legs. It's not fair that every breath Nasir takes makes him ache, because all he really wants to do is make this all better. He wants to get on his knees and forget about the past two weeks, to heal all that happened with heat and sensation.

"If I get this treatment," Nasir groans, shivering when Agron's fingers dig into the nape of his neck. "Maybe I should get stabbed more often."

"I'll do this every day," Agron purses his mouth at Nasir in dissatisfaction, "if you promise to never get stabbed again."

"What if I stab someone else?" Nasir asks, tilting his head back to kiss the frown pulling down Agron's face. “I’m very good with a knife.”

He’s not satisfied as Agron continues to narrow his eyes at him, scowl deepening even as they pull back. So, Nasir gives him another kiss, and another, until Agron finally relents and leans into it. It’s changes then from quick, gentle pecks into something softer, drawn out as Agron’s palms rest on Nasir’s jaw, tongues tangling until they have to break apart and pant against one another. 

"The only thing I want you to stab right now is dinner." 

Reaching behind, Agron flips the water off, stepping out and grabbing a towel. He has to help Nasir step out of the tub, keeps close as he dries him off, being careful not to tug too hard on the tape as he takes the plastic covering off Nasir's gauzed side. It's like every task is made more difficult as it hurts to move, to breath, to bend or twist. Nasir gives up trying to helpful or strong. Agron just gently pushes his hands out of the way anyways, paying special attention not to tug on his hair as he towels that too. 

"I should brush it out and dry it." Nasir grumbles, already reaching for the side of the sink, but Agron grabs his wrist. 

"You don't have to. Let me." 

Taking up the comb, Agron starts on the left side, easing the wide teeth slowly through Nasir's long hair, smoothing out the tangles and twists. It's an indulgence he rarely gets to have, mostly rushing in the morning to get around each other and out the door. Now though, there is no hurry. No one is around. He lets his fingers work, slip along the dark silk of it, gliding through his wide fingers. When Agron's done, he leaves it loose, kisses the side of Nasir's temple.

"Wait on the bed for me, yeah?" Agron asks, inhaling into Nasir's hair. 

"It's gonna dry curly. And tangled." Nasir hesitates, looking up at Agron through the mirror. "I should braid it."

"So?" Agron sets his jaw against the side of Nasir's head, wrapping his arms gingerly around him. "No one is here but us. No one is coming over."

"Yeah but it'll look messy and-" Nasir pauses, trying to figure out how to say it, but Agron is already speaking. 

"Perfect." Using his hand, Agron tilts Nasir's head to the side, brushes his lips against Nasir's nose. "You're perfect. Just the way you are. Just want you how you are. No matter what." 

" _Hayati_ ," Nasir murmurs, turns all the way around to wrap his arms around Agron's waist.

Cupping his cheek, Agron doesn't let the space fill up with more words. He shows it instead, leans down and presses him mouth slow and gentle to Nasir's. It's a chaste kiss, for all the emotion behind it, lips pressed tenderly together with just the hint of a sigh being let loose, the warm air ghosting over Nasir's own. There is nothing but love in it, heart melting, unquestionable affection and devotion. Agron doesn't release him until he can feel Nasir succumb to it, and then only draws far enough away to watch his eyes flutter open - searching and careful.

"Go order the food and wait for me on the bed, yeah?" Agron instructs, the curl of his fingers gentle just under Nasir's ear. "I'll be right out."

Numbly, Nasir nods his head in a short bow, too overwhelmed and thrumming to do more than that. For once, since it happened, it's not the pain in his side that is leaving him breathless. It's the butterflies swarming in his stomach, so caught off guard by a man he's literally loved for more than half a decade. 

It's all done quickly then. Agron manages shave enough off that he the full beard has been shorn to his usual soft stubble. Nasir can't keep his fingers off of it as they dress, petting over his jaw with the arm that it doesn't hurt to raise. Agron rewards the affection by stealing gentle kisses of his own, pecking over Nasir's cheeks, his jaw, his forehead. 

With no one around and no prospects of leaving anytime soon, they dress for comfort. Nasir can't pull a shirt on, so he just opts for a pair of sweatpants, the legs long and loose around his feet. Agron slips his own on with a wink towards Nasir, who watches the gray fabric trail up over Agron's naked body with a rapt fascination. It really shouldn't catch his eye the way it does, but Nasir is a weak man, made weaker by the way the fabric clings to Agron's cock. 

"You're going to give the delivery person a heart attack." Nasir tries to busy himself with flipping his hair over his shoulder, eyes drawn back as Agron fiddles with his waistband, letting it dip low on his Adonis belt. 

"It's like an extra tip." Agron smirks at him ruefully. 

"Better not be just the tip." Nasir throws over his shoulder, slipping out of the room and towards the stairs. 

"When have you ever known me to only give just the tip?" Agron calls, following after him. He easily slips behind Nasir, grips his elbow again to help steady him as they make their way down. 

"Mmm, maybe the first time?" Nasir grimaces as he finally reaches the landing, the pressure on his ribs making him have to pause, pressing a trembling hand into the wall. 

"Our first time?" Agron tries to distract him, pressing a series of quick kisses to the side of Nasir's neck. "If I remember correctly, you were the one who grabbed my dick and told me you wanted all of it inside of you."

"I did." Nasir shrugs a little, not looking that bothered by it. "I took it too."

"You're did." Agron agrees, his grin growing as he trails a wandering hand to Nasir's waist, ghosting over his hips and then ass. "You definitely take it well."

"Don't." Nasir gives Agron a sharp look, pushing up off the wall. "Don't make me want it 'cause you know we can't."

"We really can't." Agron agrees, moving out the way to let Nasir shuffle towards the couch. "Really, really can't."

"You owe me make up sex though." Nasir points a finger towards him, slowly lowering himself in the corner of the couch. "Like, really good make up sex. All the works."

"All the works?" Agron raises an eyebrow, his steps slow and cocky as he makes his way over. "You got a list?"

"I'll let you be creative." Nasir grins, secret and conspiring. "But I want at least an hour for foreplay."

"Only an hour?" Agron hooks his arms over the back of the couch, leans in too close, gets his breath on Nasir's face. "Baby, you know me better than that."

"Mm?" Nasir asks, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth. 

"When I start on you." Agron reaches out, cups the side of Nasir's neck, his thumb brushing along Nasir's Adam's apple. "We won't be done until I say so. And not until you're so fucking high on it, wrung out and pleading, that you can't take anymore. Til you can't fucking think of anything besides what I feel like deep inside of you."

"Fuck!" Nasir gasps, his cock twitching helplessly between his legs. He's almost dizzy with how fast his blood runs south, reaching out for Agron, only to be cut off by the sound of the doorbell. 

Agron doesn't even give Nasir a reply, just lets his smirk grow as he pulls back, turning towards the front door. There is no way the teenage guy on the other side doesn't notice the impressive semi Agron is sporting, holding out a ten dollar bill as a tip. He mumbles something, face red and eyes wide, practically shoving the bags of food into Agron's hands before sprinting down the main sidewalk, not bothering to look back. 

"Huh, customer service skills really are lacking in today's youth." Agron muses, shutting the door with his foot and then switching the bags to one hand to lock the door. 

"Please don't ironically quote Fox News while your dick is hard." Nasir groans, rolling his eyes. "That is not on my kink’s list."

"It’s not?” Agron asks with a mocking raise to his eyebrow. “I thought that would be in the top five.”

“Yes, because blatant racist and homophobic agenda really checks all my boxes.” Nasir mutters, snatching the first bag of food from Agron, setting the steaming cartons on the coffee table. “Oh baby. Oh baby.”

“Should I go get a spray tan?” Agron hooks a thumb towards the door. “Shave my head and buy a really shitty toupee?”

“Don’t you dare.” Nasir mumbles around a mouth full of crab rangoon, chewing loudly. 

“You don’t think I’d look good in a blue suit? Maybe it will help bring out the white rings around my eyes?” Agron asks, collapsing into the couch after snagging the container of beef and broccoli. “I don’t know babe, I have big hands though.” 

“I am literally so hungry and you are making me want to hurl.” Nasir groans, plucking another fried rangoon from the bag. “I really don’t know what I did to deserve this. But if you come home one day and decide you’re Republican, I’m going to murder you. Like, actually murder you.”

“Duly noted.” Agron nods, stealing the last crispy corner from Nasir’s fingertips. “I think I’m too much of a flaming homo for that though. I don’t think they’ll let me in.”

“Thank god for small miracles.” 

Nasir rolls his eyes, settling further into the couch and in part Agron’s side. He ends up with his legs curled over Agron’s lap, pressed into the back of the couch with a carton of orange chicken perched on his knee. Agron finds the remote half buried between the bottom cushion and the arm, flips it on and picks something on Netflix. They’ve been working their way through some crime series, something about whether or a not a man or an owl killed his wife. It’s been wild ride. 

There really isn’t set rules on which entre belongs to whom, so Agron and Nasir just pick out of whatever the other one is holding. They’ve ordered too much food for just the two of them, but it’ll last them a few days. Plus, usually, someone comes over and swipes something. At least this way, they don’t have to worry about any of the pantry being raided. The last time that happened, Donar had been banned for an entire week from the house because he ate Nasir’s package of barazek. 

It must be the food, the fullness and lull of the hot tea, or maybe the comfort of the couch cushions, but it’s barely forty-five minutes later and Nasir is slumped into Agron, his head resting solidly on his shoulder. He’s angled himself so his left side is mostly uncurved, gauze pad and wrappings left unwrinkled as Nasir stares at the pudgy police chief through half closed eyes. He barely gets to hear about the circumstantial evidence in the blood splatter when Agron’s fingers find their way into his hair, massaging his scalp in small circles.

“You’re going to make me pass out.” Mumbling, Nasir nuzzles against the curve of Agron’s shoulder, head tucked under his chin. In this spot, all he can smell is Agron – the sharp mint of the soap in the shower and pine lingering on his skin. 

“I’ll pause it if you do.” Agron doesn’t stop his ministrations, dig his fingers in deeper to pull a soft groan out of Nasir. 

He’s trying to think of something clever to say, maybe a quip about the dumb group of adult children on the screen that seem to believe their lying father no matter what. But Nasir yawns one more time, curving his mouth into Agron’s bare chest to cover it and then he’s asleep. 

\- - - 

They made it home on a Wednesday and by the following Thursday, they need to go the store. Agron makes a big deal about Nasir going, trying to keep him on the couch, arguing about germs and infection, complaining about the strain, but Nasir ends up winning the argument. This is as close to a vacation as they've ever gotten and if Nasir wants to wander around a grocery store with his boyfriend for an hour (a grocery store where almost everything is in every language than English) then he's going to take it. 

It shouldn't be a surprise then on Friday morning, Agron comes downstairs with a grim expression and jeans on. Nasir is propped up on the couch again, his laptop open in front of him, typing quickly on a new line of code. He only looks up when Agron leans into the back of the couch, offering out a steaming cup of tea. 

"It's payroll day, isn't it?" Nasir asks, raising his hands thankfully to take the mug. He inhales the steam, humming a little. 

"Yeah and I need to place the supply order." Agron's mouth twists into a scowl. "How did you know?"

"You only make me tension tamer tea when you're stressed." Nasir smiles against the rim as he takes a slow sip of his tea. "Which also means you've gotta go to the bar."

"I don't want to drag you all the way down there..." Agron trails off for a moment, sighing loudly. "But I left my laptop in the office and I gotta pay them, ya know? Plus, if I don't do the order now, we're going to be out of food by the end of the weekend."

"I know." Nasir leans over to set the mug on the coffee table, grimacing a little as he sits back up. "Babe, you can leave me here. I'll be fine."

"It's not going to be quick. I gotta go down and double check counts and then also do tips for the week." Agron moves around the couch, takes up a spot sandwiched against Nasir's legs, elbow on the back of the couch. "Duro and Lugo have been trying to hold it down there, but neither of them really know what the fuck they're doing. And with Nemetes and Saxa took a few shifts off."

"Agron," Nasir reaches forward, takes his hand. "Stop. It's fine. I'm going to finish doing up this code for the new surveillance system in Gannicus' warehouse and then I'll probably take a nap. Or do some of that stretching Melitta told me to do. I'll be okay."

"But what if someone breaks in? Or you need something off a top shelf? Or you trip and pop a stich open?" Agron asks, watches the way Nasir's thumb brushes over his knuckles, leans down and kisses the back of his hand. "I don't want to not be here again."

"Hey." Flipping his hand over, Nasir cups Agron's chin, lifts his head up. "I'm more safe in this house than I would be anywhere else. Lock the door when you leave. I'm literally not moving from the couch unless I have to pee. I'll be right here when you get back, yeah?"

"You're sure?" Agron asks again, leans out of Nasir's grip to kiss his mouth gently. "Like, really sure? You can tell me no and I’ll figure it out."

"Go pay your employees." Nasir teases, patting Agron's cheek. "I'll be fine. Promise."

"Okay. I'll try to hurry." Agron moves away, shoves his feet into the boots by the door, lacing them up. He's only got the top deadbolt undone when he turns back, looking earnest. "You'll call if you need me, yeah?"

"Number one on my speed dial." Nasir picks up his phone, waving it a little at Agron. 

"Okay. Sorry." Ducking his head, Agron wrenches open the door. "I love you."

"Love you too. Be safe!" Nasir calls back, listens to the locks turn over - one, two, three - before he relaxes back into the couch cushions. 

He knows Agron is trying to maintain his guilt, tries to keep himself collected and strong. And Nasir isn't debating that. Agron is strong, probably one of the strongest people Nasir knows. And through that strength comes loyalty and compassion and dedication. As much as Nasir hates it, there is little he can do but reassure Agron over and over that what happened isn't his fault. 

The pain meds Melitta had given Nasir are strong, too strong really, and make him feel like he's floating out of his body. He only takes them before bed, when laying flat and rolling over causes him to shock himself away in pain. Agron had tried to sleep in the guest bed, too scared he might roll over and hurt him, but Nasir wouldn't allow it. He was being honest about not being able to sleep in a bed alone. 

Instead, for pain management during the day, he's taking the CBD drops that Gannicus made him. He only takes a few under his tongue, the oil dissolving and the high coming on slow. When the computer screen gets hazy, Nasir abandons it on the coffee table, sinks down into the comfort of the couch. He's still not able to wear anything that goes over the head, instead curls up inside of one of Agron's hoodies and a pair of shorts. He's halfway to sleep, floating chill and numb with a Youtube video of lo-fi playing in the background, when suddenly the front door's lock clicks over. 

From where he's laying, Nasir can't see the front door, but anyone who has keys is a friend anyways. Though, surprisingly, no one has been by to see him since he got out of the hospital. Probably scared away by Agron's threats of violence if anyone disturbed them.

"I know Agron didn't finish payroll yet." Nasir calls out, his voice slurring a little. "So, who did he send to babysit me?"

"It's not really babysitting. Even if you’re pint sized." Duro's head pops up from behind the couch, mouth stretched wide in a crooked grin. "He just got worried you might be trying to sneak into the basement or clean or do laundry or something. Wanted me to check on you. Make sure you were comfortable and resting."

"Hm, he's sweet." Nasir muses, tucking his hands into the long sleeves of Agron’s hoodie. Honestly, he should have expected this. Agron has a touch of German grandmother in him. "You want anything?"

"Yeah but you ain't fucking getting up to get it." Duro scoffs, tossing back his head of curls as he shuffles towards the kitchen. "You care if I smoke?"

"Yes." Nasir isn't that high, just sort of hazy, as he pulls his knees up towards his chest, making room on the couch. "Come use this ashtray."

"I'm getting a beer." Duro calls back, followed by the sound of a metal bottle top hitting the counter. "You want anything? Snacks? Drink? I’ll give you some wine if you don’t tell _Vati_."

"No, thanks." 

Nasir watches the sunlight dance on the living room ceiling, scattering in from the drawn blinds on the bay window. It's still too hot to let a breeze in, but Nasir doesn't mind. He's cool and comfortable half curled up, letting the pain ease out of his side in slow waves. There is almost a lull to it, a hazy sort of comfort, only disrupted as Duro appears again, flopping down on the end of the couch. 

He's got one of Agron's German beers in hand, a lit cigarette hanging from between his lips as he types with one hand on his phone. Nasir can't see what he's writing, but by the grunting and amount of emojis, he assumes it's Agron. Probably reporting back that he found Nasir exactly where Agron left him – half dressed and half awake on the couch. 

Nasir supposes, out of everyone who is probably at the Nickle on a Friday, Duro isn't the worst babysitter to be sent to him. In fact, there is something companionable about Duro that Nasir doesn’t get just from anybody. They’ve known each other for a long time. Forced together by their deep love of the same person. And though that loyalty and devotion, Duro and Nasir have found a strange middle ground. They care about each other, love each other even.

“You smoking again?” Nasir asks, stretching out his legs so his feet press into Duro’s thigh. There is a cord wrapped bracelet around his left ankle, made by one of Naevia’s daughters who insisted knotting it so well that it’s been on for at least four months. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Nothing. I just wanna smoke.” Duro murmurs around the filter, finally setting his phone down on the arm of the couch. 

“Duro.” Nasir chides, hooking his elbows under him and pushing himself up a little on the pillow. It pulls at his stiches, sends the sharp sting back through his waist, but Nasir doesn’t grimace, just levels Duro with one of his wide-eyed stares. “Habibi, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“I just…I fucked up.” Duro chokes out the words, staring out at the swirling image on the television, the sound of lo-fi and rain filling the room. Nasir can see now, up close, the dark red bruises under Duro’s eyes – exhaustion stemming from crying. “I’m fucked up.”

“No, you’re not.” Nasir tucks his heels down and forces himself to sit up. If he leans into the back of the couch, it doesn’t put as much pressure on his side, only on the bruises on his stomach. “Tell me what happened. We’ll figure it out. I’ll chop somebody’s balls off if I have to.”

“You got stabbed a week ago. Twice!” Duro laughs a little, voice cracking as his bottom lids fill up with tears. “You can’t cut someone for me.”

“Like hell I can’t.” Nasir loops his fingers into Duro’s sleeve, tugging on him. “Not even your brother could stop me. He’d probably help.”

“Fuck.” Duro tips his head back against the couch, exhales towards the ceilings. “I don’t want him to fucking know. He’ll flip shit.”

“Habibi,” Nasir repeats, watching Duro carefully. For as much as Agron acts strong, builds up his walls to guard himself, Duro is a tower made out of sand. He crumbles every time something collides with him. He feels too much, too soon. Always quick to show his hand, even when he knows it’s going to hurt him the most. It’s Duro’s most favorable quality and also the one that backfires the most too. 

“Auctus broke up with me.” Rubbing the side of his thumb under his nose, Duro sniffles harshly before placing the filter of his cigarette back between his lips and inhaling sharply. “Said he liked me but we had _irreconcilable differences_. Like we were fucking married or some shit. Literally deleted me off Instagram before he told me.”

“What the fuck?” Nasir cringes, wrinkles his nose sharply. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Means he wants to suck Barca’s cock and doesn’t want to feel guilty about it.” Duro huffs a laugh, smoke coiling out of his mouth. “You know, after he fucked me. So, it’s really the best of both worlds.”

“Wait…did he say that? Because Barca is with Pietros and you know Pietros isn’t going to be able to handle that if Auctus and Barca are cheating.” Nasir thinks back to Pietros’ teary eyes, the way he had clutched his phone to his chest. “And if Auctus thinks he can get away with cheating on you, he has another fucking thing coming.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think they have yet.” Duro shrugs a little helplessly. “But then again, I thought everything was going great so I’m fucking dumb.”

“You’re not dumb.” Nasir shakes his head, caressing his fingers over Duro’s shoulder. “You guys have been together for a few months. It makes sense you would think things are good. I mean, weren’t you worried about sleeping with him for the first time a few weeks ago?”

“Yeah. And guess what?” Duro’s voice takes on a hard, bitter edge. “I let him and look what happened? I turn out to be the easy ass and he gets to bounce.”

“You don’t know if that’s the reason.” Trying to placate, Nasir wiggles closer, leans his shins into Duro’s side as he moves a hand to his hair. It’s the same move he would do on his brother, caressing small circles just behind Duro’s ear. “Did you talk to him about it?”

“He literally had me sit down on his fucking stoop to talk to me about it. Like, not even in the fucking apartment building. All saying shit like how I’m too good for him and how he’s just not ready for a relationship. He likes me. It’s not about the sex. Blah blah blah.” Duro hisses, flicking his cigarette at the crystal ashtray on his knee. “Like, how am I supposed to not take it like that? We fucked and now you’re dumping me. The definition of wham, bam, thank you ma’am.”

“Don’t think like that.” Nasir tries, shaking his head. “I thought you both wanted to have sex. Like, it was a joint decision. You talked about it.”

“We did, but maybe that’s all he wanted.” Duro groans, tossing his head back against the couch. “Or maybe I was fucking bad at it. And scared him off.”

“I highly doubt-“ Nasir considers his words carefully. “I highly doubt you were bad at it. If you care about someone, then the sex is always good.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ve only fucked one guy.” Duro grumbles, rubbing at his eyes with rough, jolting fingers. “How would you know what bad sex is?”

At a loss, Nasir continues to offer Duro small, tactile comfort. It’s all he really can do, caressing his fingers through Duro’s soft curls, leaning into his side. Nasir doesn’t know what to say really, caught between wanting to defend Duro and also find reason in it. It’s not like Nasir has a lot of experience in dating. Not in the sense of having the scorching pain of breaking up. But he knows what it’s like to full unwanted, to turn despair and pain into acute self-loathing. The type that breaks you down, chokes you off at the throat. 

Duro alternates smoking and drinking for a while. It’s a slow burn, the cigarette smoke drifting up towards the ceiling in a slow trickle, the beer dwindling down. If he concentrates of the motion of it, he doesn’t have to think about Auctus’ face in the street light, of his downturned mouth, of the hickies still on his throat that would match up to Duro’s own teeth. How can he be so quick to toss it away when it was still so fucking new? Duro doesn’t understand, can’t understand, only spirals and blames himself. 

“Speaking of, I’m surprised you’re sitting like that,” Duro tries for humor, the corner of his mouth lifting in a jagged, little grin. “Agron didn’t raw you into the mattress the moment you got home?”

“No.” Flushing from the tips of his ears down into his throat, Nasir pulls back a little. “I can barely bend or twist. I have stiches and two fractured ribs. Plus, like half a dozen bruises on my stomach and my legs. Sex is kind of off the table.”

“Yeah true but he did throw that fit at the hospital.” Duro chokes on a laugh. “Was sure he was going to keep you in some sex haze when you got back.”

“A fit?” Nasir asks, raising his eyebrow. “What fit?”

“No one told you? Spartacus? Melitta?” Duro stubs his filter into the ashtray, turning to better face Nasir. “Not even Pietros?”

“I haven’t seen anyone.” Nasir confesses. No one has come over and he’s only gotten a few ‘hope you’re okay’ texts. Nasir had figured they were keeping their distance to allow him time to heal and because Agron had insisted upon it. “I only talked to Melitta after I woke up and Agron was there. It was just about my recovery. Did something happen?”

“Oh. It definitely happened. I’m sure the whole hospital heard it happen. How can you be dating my brother for six years and not put him as your emergency contact?” Inspired by the change of topic, Duro throws his energy into it. At least this way, he doesn’t have to think about the coiling disappear at the base of his gut. 

“We never did. In case we got taken to the Roman hospital instead.” Nasir explains, motioning with his hand. “We’re not supposed to leave a trail, you know? Not get traced back to the Rebels or Sparty. Why? Did he get mad? He didn’t say anything to me.”

“Did he get mad? Do you know my brother?” Duro scoffs, rolling his eyes. “He was a fucking mess from the moment we got to the shop. There was fucking blood and glass everywhere-“ Duro trails off at the look on Nasir’s face – eyes wide and mouth trembling a little. It’s not a sad look, more apprehensive, fingers flexing in the back of the couch. “Er…sorry.”

“It’s fine. I knew-“ Nasir shakes his head a little. “I knew it probably looked bad. I didn’t know who else to have Pietros call though. I didn’t think you all would be together.” 

“You made the right choice, Nasir.” Duro brushes his fingers against Nasir’s bare knee. “Besides, he would have been a fucking wreck anyways. He has no self-control when it comes to you.”

“Hm.” Nasir hums, fiddling with the cuffs on his hoodie. Duro doesn’t let him linger in his thoughts for long, instead draws in a deep breath and continues on.

“So anyway, apparently the nurse wasn’t going to let him back to see you because he’s not next of kin. And Agron lost his fucking mind.” Duro laughs again, fully embroiled in the gossip now. “I’m talking yelling, crying. Talking about how you are the love of his life and he needed to see you because you guys were fighting before you got hurt. It was very tragically romantic.”

“Oh.” It comes out as a harsh exhale, Nasir’s eyes going huge. He understands why Agron wouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s not uncommon for Agron to lose his temper, but to confess something like that – frantic and paralyzed with fear – it must have been extreme. 

“Oh and ya know.” Duro’s grin turns sly, eyes narrowed. “Screaming about how she has to let him see his husband.” 

Nasir’s jaw snaps shut, pulling back to lean into the couch. He doesn’t know why the words affect him so much. It was probably just a slip of the tongue, Agron desperate enough to try anything that would get the nurse to cave. Still, the idea of it – the very idea Nasir was thinking of as he slipped unconscious – being the same one in Agron’s mind. Had Agron ever thought of it? Did he ever wonder if they should? They practically already were married. They live together, own a house together, both their names on the bills and the cars. Still, the act of it – the proclamation of it – hasn’t ever been brought up. 

“Seriously though.” Duro asks, bringing his beer bottle back to his lips, grinning around it. “When are you going to marry my brother?”

“Duro-“ Nasir starts, warning. This isn’t a conversation they should be having. Not if Nasir has never even talked to Agron about it. 

Hooking his fingers against Nasir’s at the back of the couch, Duro rocks their hands together. The expression on his face is suddenly somber, looking entirely too serious for the teasing tone he just had. Nasir can only stare at him, heart racing as Duro finally breaks the prolonged pause. 

“I want you to be part of my family.”

“I _am_ part of your family.” Nasir stresses, squeezing his fingers against Duro’s as his chest clenches. 

“But I want you to marry him,” Duro’s voice drops, soft like a secret confession, “and be a Geisler.”

Nasir has to lower his head, overwhelmed and uncertain what else to say. He understands what Duro is implying. It’s not like the idea hasn’t crossed his own mind. But there isn’t time. There are Rebels to help lead and Romans to fight and motherboards to crack and firewalls to break. Nasir will always have carburetors and transmissions and oil changes. Agron has payroll and beginning of the month ordering and managing half a neighborhood. 

“Listen, habibi, things aren’t that simple.” Nasir begins, voice slow and careful in selecting what he’s going to say. “I love your brother. And I love you and Saxa and that one really drunk uncle I met that one time. And I’m always going to no matter what happens. I don’t need a marriage certificate to know who my family is.”

“Just seems like a waste if you’re spending all this time together and aren’t willing to tie the knot.” Duro rolls his eyes, slumping back into the couch. “What’s the big deal anyways?”

“It’s really a conversation I should be having with Agron, not you.” Nasir says, not harsh but firm, clearly drawing a line at the end of discussion. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about it, it’s that Nasir doesn’t know how. He hasn’t let himself linger on it because things are good, _so good_ with Agron. Why would he want anything more? It’s just a slip of paper, something that costs a lot of money to keep doing the same thing they’ve been doing. 

“But I want to buy you one of those child sized bats. The ones kids learn to play t-ball on.” Duro’s grin spreads wide, helping to take some of the seriousness out of the air. “It’s just your size.”

“Asshole.” Nasir snaps, but it’s fond, pushing away from Duro to collapse back into the couch cushions. 

“No, but seriously, I’m happy you’re part of our life.” Duro circles his fingers slowly over Nasir’s knee. “Even if I kinda wish you had given me a chance instead of Agron.”

“We’ve been over this. Two bottoms? Would never work.” Nasir knows Duro is teasing, no reality behind the words. 

“We could still have rebound sex though. I’m good with my hands.” Duro waggles his eyebrows suggestively at Nasir, letting his palm skid down his bare thigh. Nasir easily pushes him off, rolling his eyes. 

“Ugh. No.” Nasir pushes his legs shut, crossing one side of his hoodie over their other. It’s big enough to wrap all the way around him, smelling strong of Agron’s cologne along the collar. “I don’t even think I could get it up right now.”

“Shame. But you’re also a pillow princess so.” Duro smirks, his grin growing wide. “I don’t know if I want to work that hard.”

“Your brother does just fine.” Nasir shrugs, not ashamed of it and knowing it will effectively shut Duro up. “Now, do you want to listen to me talk about your brother’s magnificent cock or do you want to fucking nap?”

“Nap.” Duro agrees readily. Mostly to avoid the topic of sex and his brother but also because his eyes are raw, worn out from the crying. 

The couch is long enough that they both can fit, Nasir sprawled on one end and Duro on the other. It’s just wide enough that Duro can push his heels into the back, dig into the cushions, and Nasir curls up on the outside. It’s not the most comfortable, a little squished, but Nasir doesn’t have the energy to fix it. Instead, he tucks his nose into the curls of his sleeves over his hands, breathes deep and lets the music loll him. Later, when Agron gets home, Nasir will kiss him extra sweet and slow, try to soothe the fear and panic that he is sure lingers in the back of Agron’s mind. 

\- - - 

On Spartacus' fireplace mantle, there is a dark, wooden frame leaning large and ornate between two candles. The picture inside is a reprint of one taken many years ago, the colors vibrant but a little pixelated. It's a snapshot of the bleachers outside of the Southend High School, the afternoon sun streaming bright and glaring from behind. Spartacus, wearing a football jersey, is in the middle with Mira tucked into his side. They're both grinning wide, caught in the middle of laughing. Agron is the right with an arm thrown over Duro's and Gannicus' shoulders. This is back when Gannicus' hair was cut short, not a curl in sight. Crixus is to the left, hand on Naevia's shoulder as she leans in, tugging a small and timid Nasir into her side. He's almost unrecognizable behind his large, circle glasses and over sized tye dye shirt. Even Barca and Auctus and a baby faced Donar crowd onto the scorching metal, happy and youthful in their expressions.

Turning away from the picture, Spartacus looks around the room. It's uncanny - the differences and the consistency of the people that have been standing with him for so long. They've grown up together - become closer and further apart in some regards. There have been families started, couples solidified, friendships grown upon and matured. Spartacus doesn't think he could have started the Rebels without them, even the ones who can't be in the room now - those at work or with their kids or at home hurting - they are all cherished. 

"We can't afford to underestimate them." Crixus is saying, pointing his finger at the long table before him, emphasizing his point. "We think they're too dumb or too careful to do something, and then they do it, and we get fucked."

"No one is thinking the Romans are idiots." Gannicus grimaces at the words. "Caesar operates it like a military. And with that comes long term plans."

"So, what's the angle? Because it's not just Caesar we have to worry about." Agron speaks up from his place leaning on the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "We have to think about Glaber and Crassus and fucking Tiberius. They're not a united front. There are a lot of irons in the fire."

"Agron is right." Spartacus speaks up, stepping forward so he can lean on his hands, gazing over the documents before him. "From Nasir's surveillance, we can see that Crassus is putting a lot of money and effort into this club, including the building of the dock nearby. They're sparing no expense. So, we have to ask ourselves, what is everyone getting out of it?"

“Caesar isn’t going to be happy taking a back seat to Tiberius.” Agron shakes his head. “His ego can’t take it. So, what is his role? What’s the incentive to not try and take all the glory for himself?”

"When are they expected to be done?" Gannicus asks, sprawling back in his chair. "And if they're so invested in the club, why start petty shit with us?"

"Two more months and it’s to keep us distracted." Agron figures, his scowl deepening. "If they come onto our territory, attack us, then we'll be too busy scrambling to protect our people and being paranoid to worry about them."

"It would seem that way." Spartacus nods his head slowly. "Except-"

"It's too easy." Crixus fills in. "The hit on Oenomaus' shop was too fucking easy. The shop is deep in the Southend. If they wanted to make a statement, why not do something on the border? Why not actually attack someone they knew mattered?”

“The fuck-“ Agron begins, only for Spartacus to hold up his hand. 

“I think what Crixus is saying is why not make sure who they’re attack is of high importance. Nasir and Naevia both said it felt random. There was nothing specific about it.” 

The room falls into silence, each man lost in their own head. The Romans don’t run their organization the way Spartacus does. There are too many of them with too many egos, too many opinions and too many investments. In the Rebels, regardless of the situation, it is always Spartacus’ call. He is the leader and what he says go. In the Romans, though Crassus is technically in charge, he lets his generals – Caesar, Glaber, Tiberius – do what they want to a degree. 

“Well, it wasn’t exactly unplanned.” Gannicus says slowly, his thumb nail picking at an invisible spot on the table. 

“What do you mean?” It has Agron turning sharply, eyes going wide. 

“It’s not a fact or anything, but when Oenomaus and I were reviewing the tape, there is something…off about it.” Gannicus shrugs a little. “I don’t want to cause concern or anything if it’s not warranted.”

“Show us.” Spartacus commands, his brow furrowed in a deep line. 

It takes a moment for Gannicus to produce his laptop out of his backpack, the back of it covered in vibrant stickers and pot leaves. Downloading the video off of his cloud network, Gannicus turns the screen so they all can see. The camera is angled in the corner of the shop, high up on the wall and facing the garage door. From the paused video, it is clear where everyone is as a white car comes barely into view at the top corner. 

“So, just watch, and tell me if you see anything weird.” Gannicus says as he pushes play, leaning back in his chair. 

It’s the first time Agron has seen the tape, eyes instantly drawn to Nasir’s legs sprawled under the Pontiac in the center. He wonders what Nasir was thinking about before this happened, was he upset from the fight that morning, is that why his phone is all the way over on the work bench? Was he still mad at Agron? Still hurting from the silence and the cruelty of Agron’s harsh words? There is a clear tenseness to his boots skidding on the shop floor, the way he holds himself when he slides out.

Agron watches with unblinking eyes, stomach rolling as he forces himself not to flinch as the men approach, as Nasir silently yells – shoving a hand into Pietros’ side, sending him running. In hindsight, Agron knew it was going to be gruesome, hard to watch as Nasir desperately swings the wrench, looking small but fierce as he fights back. But Agron isn’t prepared for the way it looks – the men nearly twice Nasir’s size – punching hard and fast, lifting Nasir into the air and then down onto the cement floor. Agron should be proud, should be glad that he taught Nasir how to fight, but all he can see is the blood on Nasir’s face, his shirt.

Chest constricting, Agron stares as the blond guy – the one Nasir described to him – brings his boots down over and over into Nasir’s ribs. Agron has seen the aftermath, has seen the stacks of dark purple marks left all over Nasir’s stomach, his hips, his waist. It’s violent and cruel, a hand around his arm and suddenly Nasir is being thrown against the side of the car. Agron knows it’s coming, watches in rapt horror as they pin him there, suspended with his feet clearly off of the floor. It’s the kiss on the cheek though, the horror on Nasir’s face as the knife slides home – that has Agron takes a step back, turning his head away from it. 

“Have you not seen this?” Gannicus asks softly, suddenly reaching out to Agron’s wrist, but he wrenches it away, silently shaking his head. “Fuck, Agron, I’m sorry. I thought you had-“

“It’s fine.” Agron grits out, his teeth clenched in a snarl. He relents though when Spartacus gently touches his shoulder, sending him a sympathetic glance. In the comfort and privacy of Spartacus’ house, Agron allows himself to relent to the care and comfort of his best friend. 

“I’ve seen this over five times and I don’t see anything strange.” Crixus sighs, exasperated as he slouches back in his chair. “Five on three? Their odds were good.”

“But it’s not five on three.” Gannicus reaches over, rewinds the tape to the beginning. “It’s five on four. Watch Pietros.”

He replays it. Nasir sliding out from under his car, rolling onto his feet. He looks frantic, gripping Pietros’ wrist and tugging him behind Naevia and himself as Saxa addresses the guys. Something is said, Nasir yells, shoves Pietros and then reaches for the wrench. Pietros, for his part, stumbles harshly towards the office door, looking over his shoulder as he slams inside. By the time the door swings shut, the men are already attacking. 

It’s then though, that Agron catches it – the brute next to the blond doesn’t go for Nasir first, he watches the office door – the office door that didn’t click shut. There is a large steel drum with some rags on top just to the right of the large office door, and in Pietros’ haste, he had knocked them over, wedging the door open. The Roman sees it, clear as day, but instead of going towards him, he turns his attention back to Nasir instead. 

“You’re sent to make a random attack on a car shop in Rebel territory. It’s an easy fight, or so you think, two women and two men. All of them fairly small and look unassuming. You have the element of surprise.” Gannicus paints the picture, motioning his hand towards the computer. “You see one of them run into the office – could be running for the phone or a gun or anything really – and you don’t go after him?”

“What the fuck?” Crixus’ eyes widen, leaning forward to look at the screen closer. 

“He saw the door was open. Pietros is what? One twenty soaking wet?” Gannicus asks, shrugging a shoulder. “So, you both attack one guy instead of going after the one that escaped?”

“Let’s not assume-“ Spartacus begins, his arms crossed over his chest again. 

Agron reaches over them, rewinds the tape to the very beginning again and watches it. He tracks Pietros’ movements, his sprawl against the tire of the truck Naevia is crawled into. It’s not clear if Nasir was talking to him or not, but he’s clearly engaged in something. Agron replays it all the way until the man grabs Nasir, holds his throat in a tight vice as he leans in and kisses the blood on Nasir’s cheek. 

“Why the kiss?” Agron breathes, voice soft. “Neither of the other men said anything to Naevia or Saxa, so why Nasir?”

“What did the guy even say to Nasir?” Gannicus asks, propping his head up on his hand. “Did he tell you?”

“He told Nasir to tell Spartacus not to leave his toys so unguarded.” Crixus fills in, glancing at Agron for his affirmative nod. “And that this was a Roman warning.”

Stepping over to the mantle again, Spartacus rests a hand against it, staring at the photograph again. He feels responsible for all of this. Every time something happens, Spartacus takes part of the responsibility. He’s the one who started all of this, the face of rebellion, and people suffer for it. Spartacus loves Nasir, proud of him and sees how much he’s grown since he was that sixteen little spitfire that told Spartacus to take his gang offer and shove it up his ass. 

“Any other time, Oenomaus would have been in the shop.” Spartacus recognizes, lifting his head slightly. “Right?”

“We had just left. Like, not even fifteen minutes.” Gannicus agrees. “Any other time, he would be there. There was an issue at the gym so we went to break it up.”

“An issue? What issue?” Agron asks, turning back to look at Gannicus. 

“Oh, just a fight between Auctus and one of those dicks – Gnaeus - who come in and never clean up after themselves. He had to bounce him out and I guess the cops got called.” Gannicus shrugs a little. “Nothing new. They’re always causing issues.”

“So,” Spartacus reasons, “you comes to the shop and Oenomaus and you leave. And then fifteen minutes later, the shop gets jumped. The guys come in, Nasir tells Pietros to call me and pushes him to the office. And the Roman shit saw the door didn’t close and didn’t go after him but chose to gang up on Nasir?”

“Yeah.” Gannicus confirms, the timeline beginning to work themselves out. “Which means-“

“They were tipped.” Agron snarls, his jaw clenched so tight that there is a vein throbbing in his throat. “They knew to wait until you guys left. They knew to time it. And they didn’t go after Pietros for a fucking reason.”

“If I’m told to attack a group of Romans, I’m going to make sure that none of them get away to call for help or get another weapon.” Crixus agrees, getting to his feet. “So, who’s the fucking rat?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that 'the dangerous type' has a playlist? Did you know I spent way too much time compiling a list of songs that remind me of my own fic? Want to listen to it?
> 
> [It's here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4WXRoW4aZxApvDupxUVJbv?si=RDTsd2-tQX6mohRMQepNng)

The Wooden Nickle is nearly dead at eleven on a Tuesday, the radio crooning muffled classic rock from the speakers mounted in ceiling. There is a couple of old guys in the corner, factory workers slumped down over beer steins and grumbling to one another. A middle aged couple sits in a booth, ignoring each other and picking at their shared basket of fries. At the very edge of the bar, there is a sad looking girl staring down at the bottom of her whiskey sour, head propped up her fist. It's the type of crowd that is quiet, too busy in their own heads and their own worlds to cause any sort of problem. They're here to drink and think and linger until near closing. 

Lugo has been cleaning the same spot on the bar for fifteen minutes, rag dragging in small circles over and over again. He's mostly not up front, mostly in the kitchen or bouncing by the door, but staffing is thin now. Agron usually handles the schedule, but he hasn't been back since Nasir got attacked and Duro has been MIA for about a week now. Lugo doesn't mind filling in the gaps, but he's ready for shit to return to normal. 

The kitchen has been closed for over forty-five minutes, the sounds of the dishwasher and the banging of cleaning finally dying down. Now it's just the soft clatter of glasses hitting the tables, conversation lost under the crooning of Bret Michaels. Chadara has been sitting at the end of the bar, a Shirley Temple dripping condensation onto the dark wood of the bar. There is a pile of silverware in front of her, a tray package of paper napkins at her elbow. She's been half-heartedly folding them, phone propped up beside her. 

"Well," Nemetes sighs loudly as he bangs the kitchen door open, gray t-shirt splattered with water. "I'm out."

"You're scheduled til one." Lugo doesn't even bother looking away from the television screen, invested in the rugby game currently playing.

“Yeah but it’s fucking dead. And I've got patrol tonight.” Nemetes shrugs, tossing the towel he was using to dry his hands up on the bar next to Chadara. “And who is gonna stop me?”

“Come on, man.” Totus drawls, a still dripping tray of beer glasses in his arms. "We're all supposed to help out with Boss being away. Don't start this shit."

"Boss? You mean Agron?" Nemetes makes a grand gesture of looking around, eyebrow raised. "Do you see him? Because I fucking don't. In fact, I haven't seen his scowling mug in nearly three weeks."

"Watch your mouth, Nemetes." Lugo pries his fingers out of the cloth, sets his arms across his chest. There is little he'll tolerate in regards to bad mouthing Agron. 

"I'm not saying shit." Shrugging, Nemetes leans forward on the bar, snagging a beer. "Just seems a little convenient he's allowed to not be around but we gotta run his fucking shit."

"Nasir almost died, asshole." Chadara looks up then, mouth pulled down in a scowl. 

"I know I know. We were all very scared." Nemetes grimaces, nodding his head quickly. "I'm not saying anything about it. But like, he's fine. So why do we have to run the bar while Agron gets to play nurse maid?"

"Because it's our fucking job." Lugo snarls, snapping to attention as he scowls over the edge of the bar.

Nemetes rolls his eyes, not worried. He's been in enough brawls in this bar to know that another one isn't going to really matter. It's not like the Nickle has the best reputation as an upstanding establishment. Anyone who comes here knows who runs it and by connection, what seedy shit happens here. Besides, even if Lugo wanted to fight, Auctus is bouncing at the door tonight and he looks more interested in his phone than breaking up his co-workers. 

"What is wrong with you? You used to be fucking loyal." Totus mutters under his breath, hands moving quickly to dry the glasses, stacking them in short piles. "After all the shit that Agron and Spartacus have done for you-"

"Done for me? What the fuck have they done for me?" Nemetes asks against the rim of his beer bottle. "You can't be that fucking dumb. Everything you think you've gotten from the Rebels has really just been to benefit one of them. Or fucking Crixus."

"Hey, that's not true." Chadara, having overheard, deepens her scowl. 

"Sure it is. You think this job is because Agron wants to help you out? Wants to make sure you're provided for?" Nemetes waves a short hand around. "Who owns this place? You think Agron is living paycheck to paycheck? Worrying about if he's gonna come home to the power being turned off? Look at where he fucking lives."

"We're paid fairly and he let's us keep all our tips - unfucking taxed." Chadara points out. "And when did he ever say no to a day off request or needing to leave early? He's the best boss we're gonna get around here. No one else is going to stay late or turn a blind eye if a fucking order of food disappears."

"Is the bar that low?" Nemetes scoffs again, voice dripping in disdain. "Now we're supposed to be happy for his charity?"

"It's not charity." Totus replies, sharing a look with Lugo. "It's a fucking job, man. Why are you so worried about Agron anyways? You're still getting paid. You still get to sit on your ass in the kitchen. Nothing has changed just because he took some emergency leave."

"I heard Nasir wasn't even that hurt." Nemetes throws out, rolling his eyes. "You think if one of us got jumped we'd be out for three weeks? Or hell, Chadara, you were here the next day after Saxa got attacked. Does that make you a shit girlfriend? Because you weren't home getting wet while everyone else did your job?"

"Saxa had bruises on her face. She didn't get her fucking ribs broken or stabbed twice." Chadara tosses the last of her rolled silverware down into the tray, standing up. "Shut your mouth about shit you don't know about."

"No one is forcing you to work here." Lugo sneers down his nose at Nemetes, shoulders rolling back. "Agron has made that clear."

"And if I don't? What the fuck does that mean for me?" Nemetes pushes off his stool. "Go join the Romans? They'd shoot me before I even made it across property lines."

"You're not going to switch loyalty, ya drunk shit. Shut up." Totus picks up the now empty tray, following Chadara towards the kitchen. "You're talking out your ass."

Nemetes doesn't bother replying to him, taking another long pull of his beer. It's always like this with the fucking Southend. Everyone is so blindly loyal to Spartacus, willing to do anything for the Rebel King. He's built an empire on the loyalty of others - expecting that no one will see past his facade. Nemetes isn't that fucking dumb though. He can see the dark spaces, the crevices and cracks in Spartacus' empire. 

Getting up, he stumbles towards the door, purposefully landing against the stool Auctus is perched on. He's able to catch a glimpse of Auctus' phone, thumb pausing over an Instagram post. It's from a few weeks ago, Auctus and Duro sandwiched together in a booth, dim lit from the lone tealight on the table. Duro's head is tipped back, mouth spread wide in a grin, while Auctus leans into him, teeth set against this jaw. 

"Oh, bad luck on that one, huh?" Nemetes smirks, nodding his head towards the phone. 

Slamming his finger onto the home button, Auctus recoils with a snarl, shoving the iPhone deep into his hoodie pocket. He doesn't bother saying anything to Nemetes, instead turns his attention stubbornly towards the door. No one has come in over an hour. It's unlikely they're getting any new patron tonight. 

"You're probably better off though, right?" Nemetes needles, digging his elbow into Auctus' side. "Heard that one is crazy emotional. Plus, you know what they say, you date Duro and you're basically dating Agron too."

"Fuck off." Auctus hisses through clenched teeth, a vein in his jaw flexing. 

"I'm just trying to make you feel better." Nemetes' tone drips with honeyed poison, smirk growing. "It's not like you were trying to marry him or something. Besides, Duro seems to have bounced back quick enough. You should too."

"What?" Auctus can't help glancing at Nemetes out of the corner of his eye, returning quickly to glare at the door. 

"Oh, you didn't hear? I mean, I thought it was free game, man. You broke up with him." Nemetes raises his arms, taking a step back with a widening grin. "I have to say though, your loss. He has an ass meant to be bent over."

"You fuck!" 

Auctus is on his feet, fist drawn back, when Nemetes grins up at him. It's the type of grin that is all knowing, that has layers and layers of malice and understanding beneath it, and with a raise of his hand, Nemetes presses his palm firmly into Auctus' chest. 

"Ah ah! Now, you don't want to do that, do you? After our little arrangement?"

"You're a fucking snake." Auctus snarls, leaning in so no one can hear him. "If I find out you fucking touched him-"

"I'm telling you right now." Nemetes grins, walking his fingers slowly up Auctus' chest. "What are you going to do about it? Oh wait...nothing."

Auctus doesn't say anything, his mouth still pulled back to show the sharp cut of his teeth. He's been burning with the sickness of it for nearly a month, the molten knowledge that he can't escape. But what the fuck is he supposed to do? 

"I think I'm gonna head out." Nemetes' gaze glances down Auctus, smirking wide. "Remember out arrangement, yeah?"

\- - - 

The streetlights run along the top of the car, slip along the dashboard, spill on the empty cupholders. It's the only thing to break up the darkness of the night. The trees loom high and yawning on either side of the road, highway left vacant as the car speeds up the right lane. The windows are rolled down, chill breeze mixing with the thin trail of cigarette smoke. 

Agron can see the blood on his knuckles in the green glow of the dashboard. There is more on his wrists, under his fingernails. He can still smell it, the sharp copper tang mixed with sweat. He's going to have to drop the car off at Oenomaus', let them deep clean it again. It's one of the _extra_ side jobs that they do for Spartacus. It's almost scary the amount of blood Saxa can get out of leather. It's too late to do it now though. 

For now, Agron lets the road melt into a more familiar street, the houses looming out of the darkness. There are a few guys hanging out on the corner, huddled close under a streetlamp. They look up when Agron drives by, carefully tipping their head in recognition. They're Rebels, low ranking, probably out trying to score or sell. Agron rolls by with a raise of his fingers from the steering wheel, easing into a parking spot further down. 

The television is on when Agron slips into the living room, being careful to lock the door behind him. Someone has left Netflix up, the titles screen casting a dull glow over the collection of beer bottles and pizza take-out on the coffee table. It isn't until Agron is fully in the room that he sees the feet hanging off the end, scuffed Vans and holey socks leading up to the rest of Duro, sprawled with his arm above his head, plastered onto a silk throw pillow. 

It's been a week of Duro lingering around the house, haunting the space with a brittle smile. At first, he made it seem like he was there to help - to worry and look after Nasir when Agron inevitably got pulled into Spartacus' plans. But Agron isn't stupid. He knows his brother. He knows something is going on, something that gives Duro red rimmed eyes and a sour expression. Whatever it is, Agron also knows that Nasir is aware of what's going on, even though he hasn't said anything. 

Leaving him to sleep, Agron makes his way through the rest of the house to the kitchen, turning on the faucet with the clean side of his wrist. He has to dig his nails into his knuckles, works the blood off until the water turns pink, spiraling down the drain. It feel common now, almost routine to be standing here in the dark, washing the evidence off of him. The lemon soap, the blue glow of the clock on the microwave, this is where Agron strips it off, slides into his home role. He probably should go shower but Agron stills feels too keyed up, too on edge to fucking enclose himself into a tight space. 

The job had been simple enough, just an enforcement for one of the dealers who skimmed off the top. It had just been Lugo and him, just the smell of blood on the concrete, of the sweltering trash behind the run down hotel, of the pounding of Agron's muscles as he beat the guy into the ground. 

But Agron just can't fucking focus on stupid fucks who think they can get away with stealing from Spartacus. There is too much going on, too many fucking loose ends that are more important. He's seen the surveillance tape nearly a dozen times now, closes his fucking eyes and sees the shocked look on Nasir's face, the way the knife had slid out, plunged back in. He has memorized every movement, every painful strike against one of their own. Why had the guy not gone after Pietros? Why had the Roman attacked like that? 

Agron had heard Pietros' desperate voice on the phone, had heard him crying, begging Spartacus to come. Agron doesn't doubt the fear was genuine. Pietros is one of the youngest members of the Rebels, barely nineteen and incredible naive. He wouldn't fall for some Roman plot though, certainly not go seek it out. Not when his whole world seems to revolve around the shop. Hell, Melitta and Oenomaus basically have adopted him.

So, who is it? Who is the one feeding information to the fucking Romans? And why? What's the benefit of it? Agron had thought for a long time that the Rebels ran on loyalty, on family. Everyone had a place at the table. But it seems there is someone out there who doesn't - someone who would rather play a Roman pet then know his place. 

Slipping out of the kitchen, Agron glances at the stairs before he sinks into a chair at the table. Even if he went up now, Agron doubts he'd be able to sleep. The glock against his back digs into his spine, and Agron pulls it free, lets it drop onto the polished wood with a solid clink. There is a rag and oil in the side drawer of the hutch, sandwiched with a carton of shotgun shells and a butterfly knife. He gathers it all, lets his fingers work on autopilot as he pulls the gun apart, lines the bullets one by one along the length of the placemat. 

At least this way, he has something to do with his hands as he pours over the information again. Spartacus didn't have any leads yet, had put Gannicus, Crixus, and Agron to the task of feeling shit out. Agron knows he'd be better at the Nickle, could overhear things, could deploy people to report back to him, but he's still leery. 

He is going to have to station a force at the house if he wants to leave. Drive Nasir crazy with someone always lingering around, armed and watchful. But what the fuck else is Agron supposed to do? He can't trust anyone now. Only his own men, men who had bled together, who have killed together. There are only a few of them that Agron would trust in the house alone with his boyfriend - and all of them know the end they would come to if they betray Agron's trust. 

He's barely through rubbing oil into the barrel of the gun, when he hears it - the telltale soft clip of bare feet on the stairs. They're not moving down though, instead coming from the basement, shuffling and slow, before the door swings open on well greased hinges. The basement door is diagonally behind where Agron is sitting, so he doesn't see him, only listens as Nasir pauses at the top. Slowly, as if unsure, the door clicks shut again, the padlock slicked into place. Then there is only the sound of a glass - a mug - being set on the kitchen counter, before those footsteps turn direction. 

Agron wipes his hands on the rag, sets the gun down facing away from him, waits until Nasir slides in next to him, appearing out of the dark. His long hair is down and messy, pulled over one shoulder as Nasir digs the heel of his hand into his eye. This is common too, almost routine - Nasir staying up too late to work on something, appearing exhausted and strung out but committed. There have been numerous nights that Agron has had to go down and pull him away from the computer, pick him up or tempt him out with slow, meaningful kisses pressed all over his face. 

Nasir doesn't say anything, just tugs a little on Agron's sleeve, drawing his attention. Agron already knows what he's after, sets his heels into the hardwood so he can push the chair back and make room. Nasir doesn't wait for more of an invitation, he stands on his toes so he can swing his leg over Agron's lap, settling himself firmly on his thighs, pressing his face into Agron's throat. 

"You're finally home." Nasir grumbles, leaning his whole weight onto Agron. 

"Yeah, it took longer than I thought. The gang says hi. Lugo and Chadara both requested you stop by the bar as soon as you feel up to it." Agron shifts a little, rearranging Nasir so he's sitting more comfortable, feet dangling above the floor. 

"That's sweet. I should." Sighing, Nasir lets his fingers trail down the back of Agron's neck. 

"Why are you up so late?" Agron murmurs, slips his fingers into Nasir's hair, massages at his scalp. "You should be in bed."

"I'm behind on the surveillance for the club." Nasir's voice is hot, wet against Agron's neck, wiggling a little to get comfortable. He's wearing a pair of sweatpants, the fabric stretches taught over his waist with the way he's sprawled over his boyfriend, hugging him tight. "Spartacus hasn't asked for it, but I feel bad. And Castus hasn't been able to come over so."

"You're working too hard." Sighing, Agron leans back, presses a kiss to Nasir's temple. "Spartacus told you to take some time and recover."

"I did take time. Three weeks. Now I need to go back to being useful." Nasir mutters, pushing his face back against Agron's shoulder. "And I don't wanna talk about it. I missed you today."

"I missed you too. But baby-" Agron starts, cut off as Nasir whines, nuzzling against him. 

He gets like this sometimes, craves the intimacy of touch - pressed as close as they can. Needs their skin against each other's, warmth seeping through the press, sheltered and separate from the rest of the world. Usually, they'll cuddle up on the couch or in bed, snake like with arms and legs tangled until one of them - usually Nasir - inevitably is lulled by the sound of the other breathing. It's something for them - finding comfort in one another, wouldn't dream of doing it with anyone else.

It doesn't seem enough for Nasir tonight though, nose wrinkling as he pulls back, gets his hands onto the zipper of his hoodie. He's not wearing anything under it, chest bare and warm as he pulls the fabric apart, lets it hang open and loose from his shoulders. It's not all of what he wants though as with greedy hands, he finds the hem of Agron's shirt, pulling and tugging until Agron raises his arms, helps him toss the fabric over into the corner of the room. Warm palms coast over Agron's chest, down onto his stomach, flutter at his hips before arching back up in slow circles. 

"Just wanna feel you." Nasir mumbles, wraps his arms around Agron's neck, leans in until they're pressed collarbone to hip. "All of you."

"Easy, Nasir, hey." Agron tries, drags his thumb along Nasir's jaw, tilts his face. "Your stiches-"

"Melitta took them out today." Nasir answers, moves until Agron's finger brushes against his lips. "I'm okay. She just said take it easy."

"What?" 

Unbelieving, Agron lets his free hand caress over Nasir's chest, down over his side. The skin is still bruised here, puckered a little with scabs, but there are no thin lines, no bandages, no sterile strips. Curling his palm over where the scars will inevitably be, Agron moves his thumb off of Nasir's mouth, replaces it with his own.

They've been so careful, incredibly careful, for three weeks that nothing is rushed or hurried, nothing too intense. It's not like they could do anything other than hold hands, maybe cuddle a little on the couch, kiss wistful and quick before Nasir's body ached too much. And Agron had been paranoid, even lying in bed with him, that he would turn over and cause him pain. So they had waited, being content but restless in each other's company. 

He still doesn't want to rush this, still so scared he's going to hurt him. But Agron can't stop, too drawl into it as he curls his tongue into Nasir's mouth, his hand wound up in his hair. For all the shit that has been happening outside of this house, Agron can always find comfort in the familiarities, the safety, of having Nasir against him. Nasir is all smooth lines and warm in his arms, wraps around him like he's afraid there is any space between. Agron lets himself be drown in it, turned hazy and content with the smell of Nasir, the soft pucker of his mouth as he pulls back with a tiny, wanton moan. 

"Why are you home so late?" Nasir asks, drags his bottom lip into his mouth. He wants more but he's willing to wait if it means he can talk to Agron. 

"Had an enforcement job for Spartacus after I went to the bar." Agron answers, brings his hands up under the back of the hoodie, traces along the small of Nasir's back. "Some shit stole a fucking kilo off of Gannicus' supply. Tried to sell it over in Pirate territory."

"Fuck." Nasir groans, shaking his head. "Like no one was gonna fucking notice?"

"I guess he thought he was slick." Agron rolls his eyes. "Gannicus is a lot of shit but unobservant isn't one of them. You know he hand picks the people working in his warehouses."

"Well, of course. We're all hand-picked for our jobs." Nasir leans his elbow into Agron's shoulder, strokes his fingers over his forehead and temple. "You think I would have a chance in hell of working at the shop if Oenomaus didn't trust me? You pick all the people at the Nickle."

"Yeah but I'm beginning to think I was a little lax." Agron sighs deeply, fingers tracing low circles on Nasir's spine. "Or desperate."

He wonders if he should be telling Nasir this, should be worrying him. It's not like Agron has significant proof of anything. There is just a feeling at the back of his mind, that there is something they're missing. That someone is two-faced and how can Agron trust anyone when it could be anyone? 

"What do you mean? Did something happen?" Nasir's hands are soft on Agron's chest, leaning back to clearly see him. "Is this about the attack?"

"Spartacus thinks someone tipped the Romans off." Agron won't lie to Nasir. "To know when to attack the shop when Gannicus and Oenomaus weren't there."

"Who?" Nasir tucks his hair behind his ear, brow furrowed. "Who the fuck would have Roman connections?"

"I don't know. But there is evidence that someone does." Agron lets himself take a long, deep breath. "But I don't fucking know who."

Seeming to mull it over, Nasir watches his hands on Agron's skin for a minute, fingers flexing on his pecs. It's not an easy thing to consider one of their own is a traitor. Most the Rebels they have known since they were kids. Fuck, they grew up together, ran around the neighborhood together. They're closer to being family than any of the surrounding gangs have any right to claim. 

"So, we double surveillance. We observe and we calculate. If Spartacus is the one in charge," Nasir reasons, "then that means he put you, Crixus, and Gannicus to task? So, we have ears everywhere."

"But what if it's one of their guys?" Agron asks, raises his eyebrow. "What if it's fucking Rhaskos? Is Crixus gonna turn him in? Or what's that fuck that Gannicus is always talking about?"

"Attius," Nasir supplies with a small eyeroll. "And do you honestly think that they wouldn't? Gannicus would never do anything that would put Melitta or Oenomaus in danger. Or Saxa. Or me. And Crixus? Come on. Naevia was there."

"But-" Agron goes to argue, cut off as Nasir cups his face, smiling sad and slow down at him. 

"If you found out tomorrow that it was Donar or Lugo, would you turn them in?"

"Of course." Agron answers immediately, his fingers trembling a little as they touch where Nasir's side was once flayed open. "Without question. I'd handle it myself."

"See." Nasir reassures with a small, knowing smile. "Then trust your brothers."

It's all that Agron can do. To trust and wait. 

Palms flat on Nasir's back, he drags them up to his shoulders, pulls him forward. In the middle of all the shit, this is the only constant it feels like Agron can trust in. Knows the inside of Nasir's mouth, familiar to taste and touch, can trace over his teeth and drown in the soft sounds of pleasure that Nasir freely gives up. Agron isn't sure why he ever leaves this place, why Nasir and him don't just retreat into their own world, cut everyone else off. If he gets to pick his heaven, then this is it. This is all he wants. 

Nasir slips his legs further back, has to use his toes to push off until he's wrapped around Agron's waist. He has the advantage in this position, grips the back of the chair, rocks slow and sinewy into the lap below him. He can feel where Agron's getting hard in his jeans, body caught under the weight, the friction just beginning to garner interest. It's late. The neighborhood is asleep. There is no one around to interrupt them, to see. 

"Nasir, wait." Agron's hands are soft, careful as they grip low on his hips, pin him down onto his thighs. "You still have broken ribs."

"I know." Nasir is panting, trying not to grimace as he shifts again. He's still sore, still bruised under the skin. Melitta had warned him - even with his stiches out - not to put too much pressure on them. 

"And Duro is like eight feet away." Agron makes a pointed look over Nasir's shoulder, raising a brow. "Again."

"He's wasted." Nasir shrugs a little, leans in to ghost a kiss over Agron's jaw, accompanying it with a small bite. "He passed out hours ago. Plus, it's not like he's never seen it before."

"Fuck." Agron smothers his sudden laugh in Nasir's shoulder. "God, do you remember that time he walked in on us? The first time, back when he thought we were doing that group project."

"In my defense," Nasir begins, a little indignant, "I did come over to study! I had books spread all over that bed."

"Until I had you all over that bed." Agron smirk grows wide, dimples in his cheeks. "You wanted it the minute you walked in that room. You can't even lie."

"You were very persuasive!" Nasir defends himself, poking a finger into Agron's chest. "No, you totally were. All like, come study at my house, Nasir. My parents are out so we won't be interrupted. We'll get so much done. Oh? I'm just gonna start feeling you up even though you were clearly trying to fill in the periodic table."

"If memory serves." Agron grabs at Nasir's wrist, tugging his hand up to his mouth to press a soft, wet kiss to his fingers. "You were the one who started taking my clothes off. I was only trying to make out a little. Maybe a little heavy petting. I needed to pass that science test."

"You were on top of me! Literally between my legs!" Nasir hisses, his voice carrying in the quiet room. "What was I supposed to do? You have such a dirty mouth!"

"Mm I do." Agron grins again, his eyes tracking along Nasir's face. "You like it though. You always have."

"Like it a lot more when you don't use it for evil. And then try and act innocent when we scar your baby brother for life." Nasir purses his lips, but there is no real heat behind it. He can't get mad at Agron for being an expert at turning him on. 

"God, he screamed so loud. I thought the neighbors were going to come rushing over." Agron huffs, shaking his head. "He barely saw anything!"

"Barely saw anything?!" Nasir giggles, leaning into Agron's arms around him. "He came in thinking he was going to interrupt us doing our homework, not to you fingering me on top of our textbooks. I don't think I ever got all the lube off yours. Mr. Harring was so spacious."

"Worth it." Agron shrugs, not concerned. “We used to fool around all the time and never get caught. Wasn't our fault he came home early from fucking basketball."

"That is true. Also wasn't our fault he didn't knock." Nasir reasons, barely able to hide his grin. "Though maybe the better response to him catching us was for you to go talk to him? Instead of, ya know, continuing to get me off and then go?"

"Listen, I'm a very caring lover. I wasn't gonna just leave you hanging." Agron runs his finger down Nasir's chest, flicks his fingertip over his navel. "Besides, a little trauma does a person good." 

"Don't say that!" Nasir hides his laughter in Agron's throat again. "That's horrible."

"But true."

Agron doesn't really see the problem, but then again he didn't see it back then either. When they had first put aside their begrudging feud and actually started getting together, Agron and Nasir hadn't been exactly careful about sneaking around. But they were young and passionate and eager to be together. So what if Duro and Mira an Spartacus all got a turn seeing too much? 

Tilting his head, Nasir presses a kiss to Agron's shoulder, then his collarbone, moving over until he's pressed back against him. The change from amusement to intent is a slow one, Nasir becoming more and more dedicated as he rocks down into Agron's lap. It's late. They should go to bed. And whatever Nasir can do to get them upstairs, he's going to. Grinning on a tease as he trails his mouth over Agron's jaw, planting slow, wet kisses against his skin. 

"You gonna tell me why he's drinking himself into an early alcoholism then?" Agron asks, shudders a little as Nasir's teeth ghost across his earlobe. It shoots straight to his dick, twitching against the denim. For as much as Agron knows every inch of Nasir, the same can be said for Nasir. He's a master at getting Agron right there. 

"Ask him." Nasir turns his head, looks over his shoulder at the man currently sniffling into his couch. "He won't tell you unless you ask."

"Why?" Agron scoffs hard when Nasir gives him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. 

"Because he's not willing to bail you out again."

Duro is a mess. His hair is frizzy and wild, tank top stained with droplets of beer and what could be blood or tomato sauce. Nasir had coaxed him through another breakdown today, gave him tissues and all the cheap beer (not the good stuff) that he could. He wants Duro to just confess it all to Agron, to finally get it off his chest, but every time Nasir tries to bring it up, Duro shakes his head and groans. Agron will get pissed, even if he doesn't mean to, and will try to beat the shit out of Auctus. And as much as Duro loves that idea, he also doesn't want his big brother knowing about it.

"Can you at least tell me that he's going to be okay? Do I need to be thinking of an alibi? I will kill someone if I need to." Agron asks. He loves that Nasir and Duro are friends, loves that Duro acts like Nasir is the baby brother he never knew he wanted. He won't pry if Duro told Nasir that he isn't ready to tell Agron yet, but the fear that it's serious eats at him. 

"He just needs love right now. And support. And to feel important. Maybe try and get him out of the house tomorrow, yeah? I don't think I can take him crying to the Backstreet Boys again." Nasir sighs, flips his hair back of his shoulder as he turns to his boyfriend. 

"Sounds serious." Agron's brow wrinkles, even as his fingers flex on Nasir's hips. "Is that what Doctor Nasir ordered? To fix him? Alcohol and boybands?"

"It's been helping his ailment." Nasir nods seriously, playing along. "Now, as for you..."

"As for me?" Agron lets himself get distracted, lets the fear and anger melt off his shoulders as Nasir shifts on top of him. 

"I have a different idea of what might make you feel better."

He knows the look on Nasir's face. Watches like clockwork as Nasir drops his chin, looking down at Agron with half lidded eyes, mouth caught in an open smirk. It has an instant effect, Agron's fingertips denting into their grip on Nasir's thighs, waiting for the next step. He doesn't disappoint, Nasir's palms sliding down in two straight lines, thumbs brushing along his sternum before tracing short brushes over Agron's happy trail. 

"Take me upstairs." 

Nasir looks tired, eyes bloodshot and shoulders slumped, but there is a fire in his expression that seems to grow the longer they stare at each other. It's been a long day, a long month, and all he wants to do right now is retreat to their bedroom. There were everything is just for them, separate and sacred. He wants to be laid out, to be smothered in Agron's scent and heat and weight. To kiss and taste every inch of each other, forget about all the shit they'll have to deal with in the daylight. 

Impatient, Nasir doesn't let Agron fight against it, think too much, come up with all the reasons they shouldn't. He slides off Agron's lap in a fluid curve, finger hooked in his belt loop and tugging. Agron barely glances towards the couch, just to make sure they haven't disturbed Duro and that he'll sleep through it, before he's letting himself stand up. 

They don't need to turn the hall light on, muscle memory as Nasir takes the stairs slowly, knuckles white on the railing with Agron's hands on his waist for balance As much as he wants to be fine, his ribs ache when he moves too quickly or bends or draws in a deep breath. He's had to reconsider the way he moves, way he reaches for things.

Nasir doesn't jump as Agron's hands press into his shoulders, making him stop just inside the doorframe of their bedroom. Downstairs, it had been easy and light, flirty and teasing, but here - in their bedroom - away from prying eyes and expectations - the tone shifts. Nasir can barely contain his shaking, already keyed up even from the simple, commanding touch. 

"You're still injured, Nasir." Agron states plainly before his voice dips, just slightly, just enough. "If we do this, we have to be careful. And you have to listen to what I say and my restrictions."

"Okay." Nasir nods once, fingertips curling in the cuff of his hoodie. 

"Do you trust me to take care of you?" Agron's nose touches coolly against the hinge of Nasir's jaw, his breath a warm contrast on his neck. 

"Yes." 

Nasir means it, means it with every fiber of his being. He doesn't want to think anymore, doesn't want to worry or hesitate. He just wants Agron there, against him, making everything better. There is no denying that Agron knows Nasir best, can work him up to the brink and then help him edge over, holds him down when Nasir feels like he's going to fall apart. 

Seeming to believe him, Agron's hands ease down Nasir's arms, bringing the hoodie with him until he can slip it off Nasir’s hands, tossing it towards the hamper in the corner. He is so gentle, barely brushing his fingertips along Nasir's shoulder, pushes his hair back to plant another kiss to the cusp where neck meets shoulder, feeling the shudder against his lips. 

Guiding them further into the room, Agron turns Nasir with hands on his waist, stooping a little to kiss his upturned mouth. Before where it was slow and open, this kiss is harsher, a glint of teeth that tug and bite at Nasir's lips. He falls open under it, moaning low in his throat as Agron's hand grips the back of his neck, flicking his tongue back and forth - teasing. It makes Nasir's cock jump, already dripping. 

"I want to see you." Agron murmurs against Nasir's mouth, free hand coming down to grip Nasir's ass. "Let me see."

He backs up, releases his hold on Nasir until he standing by himself, hovering between the edge of the bed and where Agron leans on the dresser. 

It's the movement that grabs Agron's attention, staring enraptured as Nasir watches him with dark eyes. It only takes a moment, a tug on the tied string and a small shove and Nasir's sweatpants pool at his feet. The nightlight in the hall glows warm and orange across all of Nasir's smooth skin, highlights him as he traces his fingers over himself. Agron can't settle on what he wants to look at first, the slope of Nasir's bare chest, the curve of his hips, the wet head of his cock. He's seen Nasir naked so many times, has touched and tasted every inch of him, but Agron never grows tired of it. It's as good as now as it was the first time. 

Lifting his leg, Nasir crawls backwards on the bed, still watching Agron watch him, bottom lip between his teeth. He has to be careful, slow with the way he lowers himself down, spread across the comforter before settling with his head against the pillows. The fabric is cool against his heated skin, soft as Nasir spreads his legs a little. He can't raise his arms above his head, though he wants to, to surrender completely. 

"God," Agron breathes, takes half a step forward, "How are you this gorgeous?"

Agron doesn't even consider it. He easily unzips his jeans, tosses them off to the side as he walks to the edge of the bed. There isn't going to be an easy way to do this, not with the bruises still littering up Nasir's side, the harsh jagged scabs of his wound fresh and pink. Agron won't hurt him, tries so hard not to shake the bed as he moves onto it, lays down against Nasir's uninjured side. 

Desperate hands reach out, Nasir managing to get his arm up high enough to grip Agron's shoulder, pulling him down. They're kissing more than breathing, little gasps between slick mouths. Agron keeps his elbow under him, keeps his weight up and off of Nasir, muscles bunched and tight so he's left carefully poised - not exactly close but not far. It doesn't seem to do any good though as Nasir rolls forward, arches his back, and promptly pulls away with a hiss. 

He tries to hide his face, turns it away towards the window, one hand flying to cover his mouth. It doesn't seem to do any good though as Nasir curls towards himself, grip on Agron's skin slacking until his palm falls to the bed with a defeated thump. 

"Baby," Agron soothes, eases Nasir back onto his back. He knows the throbbing will pass but it's the look of bitter pain on Nasir's face that has him grimacing. "We don't have to-"

"Want you so bad." Nasir confesses, panting a little. "Please Agron." Nasir will put up with the ache, ignore his side throbbing as long as Agron is against him. 

Debating, Agron looks around, takes it all in. Nasir is already leaking, a pearl of precome cling to the head of his cock as his hip twitch, trying to hold still. There is a desperation in the way he's gripping Agron's skin, lip caught between his teeth, staring imploringly with those big, dark eyes. How can Agron say no to him when he looks so eager? Willing to be good and listen if only Agron will keep going, figure it out. 

He's favoring his left side but the pressure of half turning is causing Nasir the pain. With a firm palm to his chest, Agron presses Nasir down, flat on his back in the middle of the mattress. He flexes his arm when he has him where he wants him, a silent command for Nasir to lay still and flat against the comforter. Then, being careful not to jostle him, Agron rolls over and down, presses the length of his body against Nasir's right side, pins him down with his weight. In this position, Nasir can wrap his arms around Agron's shoulders but do little else, staring down at Agron with dark eyes as he lingers around Nasir's chest. 

"Like this." Agron caresses his fingers down Nasir's stomach, over the line of hair from his navel, across the lines of ink on his hip. Nasir tries to arch into the movement, spreading his legs a little, but Agron's bulk has him effectively pinned down. "Don't move. Just let me do this for you." 

" _Agron_ ," Nasir sighs, watches his face through half lidded eyes as Agron's hand finally wraps around his cock, giving it a slow, teasing stroke. 

"That's it. Just like that." Praising, Agron leans in, kisses Nasir's jaw, working his way down to his throat. "You're so good, baby." 

Nasir doesn't know what to do with himself when Agron gets like this, careful and slow and so attentive. It's the combination of the words he's whispering into Nasir's ear, tone soft and coaxing, and the open mouthed bites he presses into the column of Nasir's throat. It's too much, too good, and Nasir can't fucking get ahead of it. He lets himself drown, the chills that work down his spine as Agron's fingers tighten around his cock. And if he could, he would stay just like this always, under Agron, surrounded by him, overwhelmed. 

There are still bruises all over Nasir's torso, sickly yellow and violet, left over imprints of well aimed boots against bone. Agron wants to cover them with his own, sucks hard into the column of Nasir's throat until he can feel the skin between his teeth. Nasir cries out when he works his jaw back and forth, tries to pull away before suddenly going lax, wrapping an arm around Agron's neck. Agron plays the thin line between pleasure and pain, knows when to pull back, when to lap over Nasir's skin, murmuring to him. 

"There ya go, baby. Just relax." Agron meets Nasir's eyes, watches his face, as his fingers slip along his cock. Nasir is already leaking, making the slide easier as Agron twists on the upstroke. "You need it so bad, huh? Already so wet for me."

Nasir groans deep in his chest, tries to roll his hips forward but he can't. Agron is solid against him, a wall of muscle that flexes forward, muscles rippling. Nasir is a little mesmerized it, keeps his gaze tracking slow and sure all over Agron's skin. He settles for spreading his legs, hooks his heels into the comforter, whimpering when Agron's fingers trail down his thigh. He seems to already know where Nasir wants him, teasing presses behind his balls, rubbing against his perineum. 

"Don't tease. Fuck, Agron, come on." Nasir pants hard, turning his face to press desperate and open kisses to Agron's shoulder. "Want you inside."

"Okay. Okay. Patience, _schatzi_." It's as close to cooing as Agron gets, fingers circling over and over Nasir's opening, playing with his rim. "Can't want to rush this. It's been a while, baby. Don't wanna hurt you."

"You never could." Nasir answers honest, rubs his face against Agron's throat, whining. He's not above begging, shuddering as Agron's fingers drum against his hole.

It's not enough to go in, just phantom threats that make goosebumps break out over Nasir's arms, legs trembling as they fall open further. He knows Agron is right, that they have to be careful and slow this time, but Nasir needs it. There is a desperation that coils deep in his chest, touch starved and yearning, craving the intimacy of having Agron against him, _inside of him_. They've been through so much lately and Nasir doesn't have the patience tonight. He's half tempted to reach down himself, help Agron's fingers along, but as he moves to reach for himself, suddenly Agron is rearing up, a hand pressed firmly into the center of Nasir's chest. 

"Stay." 

Nasir only has half a second to realize what he's said, obeying from the tone in the world alone, before Agron is sliding off of him and leaning over the side of the bed. The cold breeze from the air conditioner ghosts along Nasir's sweaty skin, brings goosebumps to the top. He's already too warm, flushed and thrumming for it, turned on by the command in Agron's voice, drowning in the scent of his skin, of his body curved and weighing Nasir down. It's all Nasir needs, checks every box, fills him up and lets him spill over into pleasure. 

Sub is something that has been ghosting around their relationship for a while, the lines of who is in control, of the anticipation of need. Nasir isn't ashamed of it, doesn't feel like less because he's the one to lay back, the one to welcome Agron inside of him. There is strength in trust, a higher understanding, intimate and sure when Nasir knows Agron doesn't take advantage. He gets his pleasure from giving Nasir pleasure, of knowing what he needs, giving him what he begs for. How can there be anything wrong in it when both of them are fulfilled? Nasir slips into the space of it, lets himself be pulled deep, but Agron is there with him, taking care of him, holding him close as Nasir slips into the edge.

Agron's only gone for a moment, long enough for Nasir to marginally come back to himself, turning his head to watch the long line of Agron's back. He has a scar towards the center of his back, a stray knife in the middle of a brawl a few years ago. It was one of the first times Melitta did stitches in the kitchen, Agron sprawled over the island, hands clasped in Nasir's. Nasir reaches up for it, traces his finger along the puckered skin. Just needs the touch as Agron finally turns back, soothing kisses against Nasir's cheek as he resettles.

Agron has to work a little harder to get the lube open, sprawled on his side this way, one arm tucked under Nasir's neck, but he manages to get the tube open, squeezing some on his fingers and little the excess drip down. It's more messy than Agron usually is, but it works in his advantage as he begins to rub against the base of Nasir's cock, down across his balls, over his perineum, coxing and teasing against his rim. He can tell Nasir is getting restless again, his mouth lax against Agron's own, trying to shift down against the teasing digits. He's been so good so far, so Agron rewards him by slipping in the first finger just as he curls his tongue back into Nasir's mouth. 

It's a tight fit, it always has been, but Nasir is turned on and whines high in the back of his throat, body seeming to swallow up Agron's finger until it's fully inside. Trailing his mouth down, Agron sucks a mark into Nasir's shoulder as he pulls back, dragging slow and searching, before the second joins the first. He's careful about it, curling them up inside of Nasir, middle just barely brushing over his prostate. It rips another moan, this one louder, out of Nasir, who shudders but can't curl forward into the pleasure. 

"Fuck, Nasir, you feel that?" Agron asks, rubbing his fingers in small circles, fleeting against the bundle of nerves. "You've been so good for me. So perfect, baby. God, you're like a fucking dream. I'm going to take care of you. I promise."

"Agron, please." Nasir's hands slide down Agron's back, gripping nails into him. "Please. It's so warm. Need you."

With two fingers buried deep, Agron can feel the lube starting to heat up, friction causing the chemical reaction. Usually he's not a big fan of it. Agron already runs hot, and when he's inside of Nasir with it, it's too much. But now, with Nasir pinned down and desperate, Agron will do anything to give him the most pleasure. Nasir is lax below him, lets himself be worked open, only able to reach for Agron's back, his chest, his waist. Agron keeps him there, sucking his dark bruises into his throat. He pulls his fingers out almost all the way, scissoring and twisting them, and then pushes three in to rest firmly, his knuckles bumping against Nasir's ass. 

Inside their own home, Nasir forgets about limiting himself. He's too fucking caught up in it, panting loud and crying out as Agron's fingers curl up again, his prostate caught under the pad of Agron's middle one. Nasir falls back from trying to kiss him, staring at Agron's wild green eyes, moaning loud and shameless as his fingers start up a brutal pace. It punches little mews out, Nasir repeating 'ah, ah, ah' with every slide. 

"You remember the first time I did this to you?" Agron murmurs the words against Nasir's open mouth, can almost taste his moans. "You were so shy, but you opened up just like you are now. Could feel how desperate you are. Need me inside of you all the time, huh? You want that? For me to keep my fingers in you?"

"Yes! Yes!" Nasir swallows hard, whimpering as Agron twists his angle slightly, enough that with every thrust, his fingers drag long and hard over his prostate. 

"Fuck!" Agron glances down, sees the smear of precome all over Nasir's stomach, caught over the ink and Agron's name on his side. "You're going to come just from this, baby. Gonna bring you over without even touching your cock. Think you can do that for me?"

Nasir doesn't have time to reply. Agron flips his wrist and suddenly his thumb is pressed tight and rigid to the curve of his perineum, digging in just behind his balls. It puts a new wave of pressure on his prostate, Agron milking the gland between his middle finger and thumb, rotating in small, rough circles. 

There is nothing left of Nasir's vocabulary as he lets his mind go blank, fueled only by the sensation of heat and pressure, enraptured by Agron's gaze and his tongue flicking over Nasir's open mouth. High pitched wails spill out of his mouth, desperate and wanton, primal as he breathes them directly into Agron's face, their gazes locked. 

Agron is relentless, he edges off only for half a breath before he's back again, massaging and rotating his fingers against the bundle of nerves. If he had his other hand, he would be stroking over Nasir's cock, but Agron has to keep his weight down, pins Nasir firmer to the mattress as he tries to buck and arch into the pleasure. It can only last a few moments, Nasir's eyes growing wider and wider as precome slicks all over his waist, pearled up and streaming. 

With a near scream, Nasir dig his hands, nails sharp, into Agron's shoulders, tosses his head back against the pillows as his cock suddenly shoots off. Streaks of white make it up his waist, over his hips and tattoo, over Agron's arm. It's not the end crest of pleasure though as Agron continues his work, soothes biting kisses into Nasir's ravaged neck. There will be dark marks tomorrow, bruised deep from sharp teeth and the never-ending pressure of Agron's sucking. 

The next orgasm isn't as wet but it's still strong, Nasir reduced to pitiful whimpers and a long dawn out note, whined directly into Agron's mouth. It's a fucking rolling wave, nerves fried as he shudders again and again, heels kicking out to drag along the bed. Agron watches it all with rapt attention, sees the tears leak out of Nasir's dark eyes as he gives into it, overwhelmed and frantic as Agron finally eases his fingers apart, releases Nasir's prostate as he comes one last time, dry and shuddering. 

Blood pounding in his ears, Agron slips his fingers out, rolls over to settle between Nasir's spread legs, staring down at him. His own cock stands proud and dripping before him, twitching as Nasir collapses back into the bed, legs spread wide. Any other night and Agron would slip inside of him, fuck him slow and deep into the mattress until Nasir is crying and begging again. It's not an option tonight though. Nasir couldn't handle the angle, wrung out and floating on pleasure anyways. 

"Fuck me." Delirious, Nasir runs a hand down Agron's chest, moaning deep in his throat. "Come on."

Agron hesitates, glancing over Nasir's come streaked body, his hole left slick and winking between his legs. It only takes a moment to make a decision, Agron wrapping his palm around himself and starting a brutal pace. It's always been a turn on for him to give Nasir pleasure, to watch the way he takes it, flushed and sweaty and so beautiful it's almost painful to look at. That's why it only takes a few moments, a dozen rough pulls on his cock and Agron is coming, marking all over that pink hole, Nasir's thighs, his tattoo.

Eyes still half lidded, flushed high with pleasure, Nasir trails his fingers down his side, over the mess, before guiding his fingers and some of Agron's come inside of him. It's such a deliberate move, Nasir moaning and flinching as he pushes it inside, Agron is overwhelmed and suddenly desperate himself. He leans in, careful of Nasir's side, and kisses his hard - enough he can feel Nasir's head press deeper into the pillows. 

It's the type of kiss that ends with teeth in skin and tugging. When Agron finally comes up for air, he has blood on his tongue and Nasir's bottom lip is swollen, though he doesn't seem to mind from the bleary look he's giving Agron. He's too exhausted to move, too strung out, as Agron flops on his back, hooking a gentle hand around Nasir and drawing him over, helping Nasir settle with his face in Agron's neck, bodies intertwined. 

There is nothing outside of this bed. Everything else melts away, is insignificant compared to this. Agron can feel them sticking together, slick with sweat and come, a mess of limbs. He can't move his legs though, half floating as he listens to Nasir's hitching breath, tears still clinging to the edge of his eyelashes. 

" _Schatzi_ ," Agron murmurs, rolls his head to the side, presses a kiss to the center of Nasir's forehead. " _Bist du in Ordnung?_ "

"Mhm." Nasir hums, licks over his mouth, nuzzling his nose against Agron's jaw. He's still a little delirious, still on the edge of space, but he's conscious enough to give an answer to Agron's question. He feels better than okay. He feels like liquid, held safe and close to Agron's chest. 

"You wanna shower?" Agron asks, raises his head a little to see the clock on the wall. It's just turned four fifteen. 

"Sleep." Nasir mumbles, curls further onto his side so he's mimicking Agron's position from before, nearly on top of Agron's side. "Stay just like this." 

He's light enough that if Agron wanted, he could push him off, could get up, but Agron can feel his eyes drooping. They're gong to be stuck together in the morning, tacky and covered in it, but neither of them seem too concerned. Agron only has half a mind to pull the throw blanket off the end of the bed, tossing it over both of them to block out the chill, before they're both asleep. 

\- - - 

It's almost ten by the time Agron gets downstairs, sunlight streaming in from the open curtains. The coffee table has been cleared off, where there were once empty bottles and half crushed pizza boxes, now there is an artfully stacked pile of books, a small potted plant, and a gold tray. Duro is propped up in the corner of the couch, head resting in his hand, with a mug of coffee balanced on his knee, staring blankly at the black television. He looks better than he did last night, showered at least, wearing a pair of Agron's jeans and a black tank top. 

"Hey." Agron calls, makes a detour to the kitchen to pour two cups of coffee, carrying them both to the living room. "You alive?"

"Barely." Duro grumbles, rolls his head up. "No thanks to you."

"No thanks to me?" Agron scoffs, settles into his large chair, crossing an ankle over his knee. "I didn't fucking do anything to you."

"Not to me. To Nasir." Duro wrinkles his nose, scrunching up his face until his mouth puckers. "Nothing like waking up at four in the morning because your brother is murdering his boyfriend's ass upstairs." 

"You passed out here." Agron shrugs, unbothered by it. As far as Agron is concerned, if you help pay the mortgage, you are allowed to make all the noise you want. "Hazard of sleeping over."

"You know Melitta just took his stiches out, right?" Duro comments over the rim of his coffee cup, sipping loudly. "And she gave him strict instructions not to do anything strenuous."

"Who says he did anything strenuous?" Agron raises an eyebrow, a lewd smirk tilting in the corner of his mouth. "Not hard to just lay there and let me work. I kept him pinned down so he wouldn't hurt himself."

"Oh my fucking god." Duro chokes a little, coughing roughly on his mouthful. "Please shut up."

"Hey man, all I'm saying is, you heard him, not me. So what do you think was happening?" Smirk spreading wide over his face, his wiggles his fingers against the side of his mug, giving Duro a clear indication.

"I think I want to bleach my brain." Duro groans, closes his eyes tightly. "Like, please, put me out of my misery. You're fucking gross. Why would you put that image in my head?"

"Again." Agron shrugs, bringing his mug to his mouth. "You slept over. Your fault. I'm not apologizing for giving him the good time he asked for. You're lucky we even made it upstairs."

"You would really fuck him in the same room as me?" Duro scowls, nostrils flaring. "Just go fucking buck wild?"

"Mm probably not." Agron shrugs a little, taking a long pull from his coffee. "Again, he wasn't supposed to do anything strenuous. Would be kinda hard to hold him down on the table. Could be done though, just more difficult. Did you want me to try that or?"

"Shut up." Duro recoils, his coffee dangerously sloshing in his mug. The side of it has a picture of the sun streaming through the clouds with the words "Christ is Coming. Are you swallowing?" around it. It was a Christmas gift from Duro to Nasir last year. 

"I'm just saying-" Agron starts, only for Duro to make a noise similar to a dying cat. 

"Stop saying anything." 

Agron raises both of his eyebrows this time, tilting his head as he takes another drink. He could keep going, disclosing all the dirty and detailed secrets of what it's like to love Nasir. Still, it's the first time in three weeks that Agron has actually gotten Duro alone, and he's not going to waste it. 

"So why don't you say something about why you've been living at my house?" Agron isn't one for subtlety, fixing Duro with an unflinching stare. 

For his part, Duro looks caught, shifting around and pulling his legs up onto the couch with him. It's a defensive move, even down to the way he reaches up to adjust the gold hoop of his nose ring. Something is there, something eating at him, and Agron only has to pry a little before it comes spilling out. 

"It's not that I didn't want to tell you. I just-" Duro takes in a deep breath, digging his thumbnail into the curve of the cup. "I don't want you to get mad."

"I'm only going to get mad if it was something I could have helped with from the beginning, but you chose to suffer instead." Agron answers, voice softer than his frown. 

"I'm not suffering. I'm okay." Moving his shoulders a little, Duro avoids Agron's gaze. "It's not something you should worry about. You should be thinking about Nasir and all the shit Spartacus has you doing."

"Nasir is fine. I'm taking care of him." Agron sets his mug down, leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "Duro, you're my little brother, first. Before anything else."

"It's going to sound dumb." Duro sighs deeply, glances up to see Agron waiting for him to continue, "Auctus and I broke up."

"When was this?" Agron asks, brow furrowing further. 

"Like a few days before the attack?" Duro shrugs his shoulders again, slumping. "He said it wasn't my fault or anything. Just didn't think we were gonna work out."

"That fuck-" Agron starts, only to be interrupted by Duro's wide, desperate eyes.

"No. Ags, please don't." He whines, reaching out a hand. "I don't want you to get like that."

"I will get like that. What the fuck?" Agron snarls, teeth clenched. "I'll fucking kill him." 

"It's his choice! If he doesn't want to be with me, then I'm not gonna have you threat him into it. Come on." Duro reasons, sighing deeply as he slumps back into the couch. "You can't bully people into loving you."

"Duro, I will beat the shit out of him for you." Agron offers, leans forward again. "I don't care. Who the fuck does he think he is?"

"He's a guy who doesn't want to be with me." Duro reasons, a helpless little wave of his hand. "There are a lot of people who don't. I can't be mad at him for making a choice. Even if I don't like it."

“Yeah but it fucking hurt you.” Agron growls, snags his fingers along Duro’s knee. “That’s an offense I can’t just shake off, Duro. Not when he’s fucking working in my bar, pretending he’s still welcome in this fucking group.”

"I've been through all the stages of grief already. You can’t just kick someone out because they made me upset." Duro laughs a little, bitter. "I just need to move forward, ya know? Nasir was nice enough to listen to be bitch and moan about it for like two weeks now. And he offered to cut him too so."

"He would. He's the best with a knife." 

Agron rests his chin on his hand, eyes tracking over Duro. They've been inseparable from the moment Duro was born, barely two years a part. Agron would do anything to protect him, to make sure his life is better, easier, safer. Not like this, with his head turned down, staring at his coffee cup. He looks so much like their mother, the dark curls and long nose, mouth curved into a deep pout. 

Agron wants to do what he always does when confronted with something that hurts - he lashes out. He resorts the knowing comfort of violence, of using his body against someone else's. But what is Agron supposed to do with this? He could kill Auctus, could jump him, but would that bring Duro any relief? 

"You want a hooker?" Agron offers, watches the sad little tilt of Duro's mouth suddenly break, the sadness melting off his face as he lets out a sharp bark of laughter. 

"Really? That's your idea to make me feel better?" Duro giggles, entirely amused. " Do you even know where to find a hooker?"

"No. But I bet someone does." Agron reasons, leans back in his chair. "Nemetes probably does. Or Donar."

"Ugh don't talk about him-" Duro starts, cut off by the sound of Nasir hitting the landing, something clunking on the hardwood as he steps into the room. 

"Donar knows what?" 

It's hard to know what to look at first, a lot to take in at once. There is a knowing scowl on his mouth, hair wet and dripping from the loose bun at the top of his head. It's the trail of dark bruises down his throat, twin trails over onto his collar bone. Nasir seems unphased by the stares, smooths the hem of his tank top down. It's loose enough that he didn't have to raise his arms that much to get it on, the straps thin and loose, deep cut. 

"Where to find hookers," Duro offers, glances at Agron who looks a little too pleased with himself as Nasir walks slow across the room. He's not exactly limping, but slips slow and gingerly onto the arm of Agron's chair, reaches for the coffee cup left untouched on the side table. 

"I doubt it. We all know that Donar is a jerk it and cry type of guy." 

"Has Agron's yearbook photo posted on his nightstand?" Duro snickers, nodding along. "Or just cut you out from all the ones on Instagram. You think he has a scrapbook?"

"I think I'm going to puke."

Nasir doesn't even get a hand around the handle of his mug. Agron slips his hand in the way, intertwines Nasir's fingers with his own. With him leaning over Agron's lap, it's easy for him to guide Nasir up, pull him closer until he is tucked into Agron's side.

"Hey." Agron's smile is soft, dimples in his cheeks, as he stares lovingly up at his boyfriend. "Good morning."

It's just for Nasir, who blushes hard, forgetting about their audience as he leans in - an automatic response. The kiss is all slow and sweet, drawn out in soft presses with just enough tongue that they both shudder on a breath. Agron saves it all for Nasir, every careful, loving part of him belongs entirely to the man perched beside him. No one else sees this part of him, so in love that he swims in it every time Nasir is nearby. 

"Morning." Nasir pulls back, grin slow and careful. He feels good in all the places that matter, wants to curl up in Agron's lap, cuddle and stay close. It's not going to be in the cards today, but at least they can have this morning, even if Duro is trying to appear very interested in his nails only a few feet away.

"You feelin' okay?" Agron murmurs, pets his fingers down Nasir's throat. There are teeth marks just behind his right ear, a neat double line that Agron would feel bad about if Nasir didn't like it so much. 

"Mhm. A little sore." Nasir confesses, shifting a little. "I feel good though. I'm not hurting or anything."

"Good type of sore then." Agron leans in, murmurs the words against Nasir's ear so he won't be overheard. "Tender in all the right places?"

"Yeah, I like it." Nasir's teeth drag over his bottom lip, has to force his eyes away from Agron, lingers long enough to trail his fingers over his jaw, before he turns and fixes Duro with a knowing look. "You finally tell him?"

"Uh, yeah." Duro coughs a little, resituates himself so he's not so curled up on the couch. "Was just getting to the hooker offer when you showed up."

"I don't think a hooker is going to make you feel better." Nasir takes the offered cup from Agron's hand, holding it carefully. "And we all need to stop calling them hookers. They're sex workers. Who deserve respect for their profession."

"Okay, then we'll get Duro a sex worker." Agron replies, looping an arm around Nasir's hips. "Whatta want? A girl? A boy? Nonbinary? Gender fluid?"

"He doesn't need a sex worker." Nasir playfully taps his foot against Agron's leg, pursing his lips. “But good job on being inclusive.”

"It's like 31 flavors out there for him." Agron shrugs, his grin growing. "Try them all."

“I don’t know if random sex is going to help right now.” Duro mutters, sets his cup heavily on the table. “But hey, it got me into this mess so.”

“What do you mean-“ Agron starts, brow furrowing, only for Nasir to gently shake his head. 

“Okay, so not a hook up. But maybe we could go out. If you want to get your mind off it. Just as a distraction."

"Out? Like out out?" Duro's head perks up, looking between the two. "To a place that we don't own?"

"Yeah, maybe even somewhere with drinking _and_ dancing and strobe lights. Imagine that." Nasir giggles, turning to Agron. “Sounds fun, right? When’s the last time we actually went out to like a club or a bar even.”

“You’ve never had a problem dancing at the Nickle before.” Agron glances at him, fingers working up from his hip to slip under his shirt. 

"Yeah but that's not really dancing." Duro explains easily, motioning with his hand. "It's one thing to just shake your ass for your boyfriend in the bar he owns where no one would dare look you.”

Nasir shrugs a little at that, unbothered by it. It’s not like Duro needs to know all the other things Nasir has done for Agron all over that bar. 

“At a club, you can be whomever you want to be.” Duro continues, voice raising. “You can get fucked up. Dirty dance on anybody, let a stranger bend you over in the bathroom! Just go wild and then never see those people again. It’s utopia."

“It’s the quickest way for you to get the clap.” Agron mutters over the top of his mug. “Or worse.”

" _Okay_!" Nasir claps his hands together once, shooting a furrowed brow at Duro before smoothing it sugary sweet for Agron. "I think Duro is forgetting the part where some of us are in long term, committed relationships that will one hundred percent be skipping out on the getting bent over by strangers bit."

"Your loss." Duro sniffs a little, not looking impressed. 

Tightening his hold on Nasir's side, Agron sighs deep in his chest. “You really want to go to some over-crowded shit show with glitter everywhere and overpriced drinks?”

Duro and Nasir share a look, both raising their eyebrows, before turning back to Agron in unison. He already knows what their answer is going to be, even before they both chime ‘yes’ together. Agron barely manages to catch his groan between his teeth, tipping his head back against his chair. The schematics of this is going to be a nightmare. He’s already put guards into place, had a whole conversation with Spartacus this morning while Nasir was sleeping. Now he’s going to have to figure out how they’re going to get into a club with a fucking armed entourage. 

“Come on Ags,” Whining a little, Nasir turns towards him, batting his eyelashes down at his boyfriend. “It’ll be fun. We can get dressed up and dance and get wasted and then go home and-“

He’s efficiently cut off by the sound of the doorbell, the chimes echoing through the downstairs. It's a rarity that one of the Rebels would actually announce themselves before entering, but Agron must have warned them off about it. That, or it's someone of fairly low rank that is being sent over as a messenger or a delivery boy. Seeming to sense where the conversation is headed, Duro is quick to scramble to his feet. 

"I'll get it!"

Ignoring him, figuring Duro can handle it, Nasir trails his fingers through Agron's hair. "It could be fun. We could pretend we've never met. Just a chance meeting at some seedy club, you staring at me from across the bar. Maybe I drag you out to dance with me."

“Uh huh. And in this fantasy, are there also about fifty other guys who wants to take you home?” Agron asks, raises his eyebrow at Nasir.

“Maybe. But all I have eyes for is you.” Nasir’s voice dips a little, sliding further off the arm of the chair and into Agron’s lap. “You could buy me a drink and then feel me up in some corner booth.”

“And then take you into the bathroom and try not to get tetanus or worse from a rusty stall door?” Agron’s mouth quirks in a crooked grin. “You gonna get on your knees in a place like that?”

“No.” Nasir answers immediately, wrinkling his nose, before remembering he’s supposed to be tempting right now. He lets his hands do the work, tracing over Agron’s throat, down onto his chest. “But I’d let you take me home to have rough, anonymous sex right up against the front door."

"You're striking a hard bargain." Agron purses his lips up at his boyfriend. "Keep convincing me." 

“Hmm, what if.” Nasir leans in, lets his lips brush over Agron’s, murmurs the words directly against his skin. “I wear something loose and easy and you finger me in the back of the cab on our way home? By the time we get to the house, I’ll be so wet you’ll slip right in.”

“Fuck.” Agron’s pupils are blow, staring up at Nasir half slack jawed.

Giggling, Nasir leans in, presses a kiss slow and open, gently curling his tongue into Agron's eager mouth. It's a tease, a light flick of wet skin against each other, hand moving to his chest. It would be so easy to forget about everything else, all the important shit they really should do today, and instead go back upstairs. Nasir can feel Agron's switch heartbeat under his fingertips, it kicking hard when Nasir lets out a soft sigh. 

Duro makes a point of ignoring the couple, knowing that he doesn’t want to see nor hear what is going on now, moving around the couch and into the foyer. The doorbell rings again, the sound louder as it echoes up the stairs nearby. It helps drown out the startled gasp from behind him, Duro wrinkling his nose in disgust as he flips over the trio of locks and yanks open the front door. 

In retrospect, Castus knows how bad of an idea that this is. He’s in Rebel territory. Showing up to a fucking Gang General’s house unannounced. He didn't know what to do though. When he had heard the news of the attack on the Rebels, Castus had wanted to rush over - had started at least six text messages - only for it to all dry up in his hand. He has no right to be standing on Nasir's porch, left hand crinkling around the plastic of a bouquet. But he had panicked, had heard the report a week ago, and couldn't wait any longer. 

The guy who opens the door looks vaguely familiar - like someone Castus should know but doesn't really remember. He's looking just as confused, sunshine spilling over his face and glinting on his honey tan skin, tilting his head. They stand there for a long, awkward minute, both assessing and trying to place each other, when the guy finally breaks it - coughing awkwardly. 

"Can I help you?"

"Is Nasir here?" Castus resists the urge to rock back on his heel, look at the house fully to make sure he actually walked up the right porch. This has to be it though. 

"Yeah but who the fuck are you?" The guy looks down his nose, scowl denting his mouth. Rude as hell.

"Habibi, who is it?" 

A voice calls from deeper in the house, and the guy takes a step back, turning his body so he's not blocking the rest of the house. Castus isn't sure what to think at first, or really even what to look at. It’s information overload. Everything looks the same, from what Castus can remember of the half dozen times he's been over here, but it's all swathed in golden, afternoon light. There are half deflated mylar balloons in the corner of the living room, shining metallic and bright against the stylish walls and décor. In the corner, Nasir slips off of the chair, taking a half step forward even with Agron's hand on his thigh, before he straightens suddenly - recognition clear on his face. 

"Castus?"

"I-" Castus had a speech worked out, something desperate and heartfelt, but it seems to all dry up as Nasir shuffles a half step forward. "I heard what happened and I wasn't sure - I just thought - I was hoping you were okay."

"Oh." Nasir doesn't exactly freeze, but he clasps his hands in front of him, looking small and a little caught off guard. 

It's not what gives Castus pause though. Even from here, he can see the molten, violet bruises that streak down Nasir's neck, track lines that taper off at his collarbones. They’re _fresh,_ unlike the yellowed bruises on his hips, on his arms. Those speak of fading wounds, of the attack, but the ones on his neck, his shoulders, they’re brand new. It doesn't take a genius to realize that Nasir had just been kissing Agron when Castus arrive, his mouth slick and bruised, a little dazed around the eyes. Something twists hot and festering in the base of Castus' gut, makes swallowing hard. He's caught off guard by it, choked as jealousy swims in his vision, making everything blurry but Nasir's lovely face. 

"Duro, let him in. Don't be rude." Nasir awkwardly motions his hand, trying for a placating smile. 

Duro takes the world’s smallest step backwards, letting Castus have just enough room between his body and the door jam to squeeze by. Castus doesn’t really have a chance to unpack that as he steps into the living room and is confronted with the true threat. Spread legged and confident, Agron looks like a fucking king on his throne, holding court as he holds Castus in a cool, assessing gaze. 

“Are those for me?” Nasir cuts the tension with a small smile, motioning towards the carefully wrapped bouquet of daffodils. 

“Oh! Yes, they are. I didn’t know if you were a flower kinda guy. But who doesn’t like them, right?” Castus holds out the bundle, ignoring the eerie green eyes glaring at him as Nasir takes the flowers. 

“That is very kind. Thank you for thinking of me.” Very polite, Nasir takes a small sniff of them, hiding his smile among the petals. 

“Very kind indeed.” Duro sing songs behind them, leaning on the doorway of the room. “What else does Castus think of you?”

“Duro.” Nasir warns, his gaze skirting off to the side before finding itself once more on the Pirate. 

“I tried to text you. After Heracleo got the report. But I didn’t want to bother you. But then, ya know.” Castus confesses, tries to regain some of his charm and swagger as he grins. “Had to see for myself if you really were as badass as you claim, surviving that.”

“Stabbed twice and all I got was this cool scar.” Nasir laughs a little, reaching up to twist his tank top around. From the wide arm hole, the hem resting low on Nasir’s ribs, Castus can see where the puckered scar of a knife wound is healing. He can also see the dusty curl of Nasir’s nipple, slightly raised in the chilly air. “You didn’t have to come all the way down here though.”

“I wasn’t sure-“ Castus glances once towards Agron, who remains silent and watching, before he continues. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to be well enough for my other gift.”

“Oh yeah?” Nasir raises an eyebrow, a teasing little tilt of his mouth.

Digging into his pocket, Castus manages to hook his fingers around the small plastic device before pulling it out. It’s a simple flash drive, ocean blue with a jump ring on one end. Castus hooks it around his finger swings it once and watches Nasir’s eyes track it. 

“Guess who has a friend who works in the building code department?” 

“Are those-“ Nasir’s eyes widen, a hand beginning to reach out. 

“The detailed blue prints of the club you so desperately needed?” Castus can’t help his grin at bay, letting it spread wide as Nasir’s expression. “Schematics and final mock ups as well as all electric wiring? Why yes, yes it is.”

“Castus!”

Nasir says it on a delighted gasp, soft and shocked as his mouth stays open just enough. It hits Castus low in the gut, his name on Nasir’s tongue like that, said in a way that in a different situation – maybe alone, in a dark room – would mean something else entirely. Castus lets himself ponder this, uncoiling at the fantasy hint at the corner of his brain, before Nasir is moving. 

“Oh my god. This is perfect! I need a laptop. Hold on.”

He turns quickly, abandons the group in the living room as he dashes through the dining table and then to the basement stairs. There is the sound of a lock clicking loudly, before footsteps descend down the rickety wooden stairs. Castus only has a moment to feel pleased through, pats himself on the back for making Nasir so happy, before Agron slowly uncurls from his chair, standing to his full height. It’s like watching a guard dog slowly wake from a peaceful sleep, muscles rolling and teeth clicking audibly shut. 

Castus isn’t dumb. He knows who Agron is, and by some admission in his brain, that it must mean his brother is the one that opened the door. There are similarities in their scowls. They have nicknames, hissed little calling cards that sound a lot like the swinging of the bat through a dim light night. The Beast of East of the Rhine. That’s what they call Agron, who has enough blood on his hands it’s a miracle there is any skin left. Castus wonders dimly if Nasir even knows who is in his bed every night. 

“Look twice, asshole.” Agron grunts at him, peers down his nose. “And see what fucking happens.”

He doesn’t even spare him another glance, shoulder checks him so hard that Castus staggers, as he leaves the room with sharp, heavy footfalls. Castus watches him go, stalking through his house, ending up out of view in the kitchen. It leaves the living room feeling a little less oppressive, only for a moment, before Duro coughs sharply, whistling under his breath. 

“I gotta give it to you. You’ve got balls.” Duro moves to Castus’ side. “Giving a guy’s boyfriend flowers right in front of him.”

“It was only a polite gesture.” Castus mutters, awkwardly pulls at the sleeve of his hoodie. He has a colt tucked into the waistband of his jeans, the jade handle cool in the center of his back, just incase. 

“Oh, it definitely was something.” Duro smirks wide, a little cruel tilt to his full mouth. “How were you imagining him showing you his gratitude? Dropping to his knees? Inviting you upstairs?”

“I wasn’t-“ Castus begins to lie, figures it safest that way, but Duro sees through the bullshit easily. 

“You definitely were.” Duro snorts sharply, shaking his head. “But I’ll tell you this now, as a _polite gesture_ , you lay one finger on Nasir and I will help Agron break every fucking bone in your body. Got it?”

“Understood.” Castus nods once, though fury burns through him, choking in his gut. He wants to say more, wants to lash out, but he knows it’s not the time. Nasir’s footsteps are back on the stairs and Duro gives Castus a vicious grin, showing all of his bared teeth. He seems to share his brother’s sentiment as he shoves past Castus with a leering smirk, shoulder checking him hard as he makes his way into the kitchen. 

Agron is taking deep breaths, staring out through the window over the kitchen sink, when Duro sidles up to him. He knows better than to try and touch him right now, watches the furious twitch of a vein in Agron’s throat as he works to keep his rage in check. It’s not like no one has hit on Nasir before. In the beginning, and especially with new people, some have crossed a line here and there. But never like this, never in a way that has Nasir lighting up, charmed. 

“We’ve got a staff meeting today. At the Nickle.” Duro mutters lowly, ignores the smell of whiskey in the coffee cup at Agron’s side. “But I can cancel it if you want.”

“No.” Through his teeth, Agron tracks a stray rabbit running through the grass. “We got shit to figure out. I need to get back in there.”

“Do you want to bring him-“ Duro doesn’t get to finish his statement, Agron quick to down the drink beside him, shaking his head through the burn. 

“Nope.” He pops the p, turning around as if confronting the image before him will make it better. 

Nasir is hunched over at the dining room table now, typing quickly on a shiny, black laptop, Castus perched in a chair beside him. He’s pulled on one of Agron’s button ups, probably from the dryer downstairs, the green flannel hanging long past his wrists so it bunches at the elbows. It looks comfortable, claiming and familiar in a soft way. Like Nasir _chose_ to put it on, to pull a piece of Agron around him, to let himself be smothered by him. 

“ _Wir könnten ihn töten._ “ Duro mutters helpfully, leaning into Agron’s side. "I’ll help. No one will find him.“

The look on Agron’s face is hard to read, shuttered and tense. There is something soft around his eyes though, something hidden and coiling, that has Duro reaching out a hand to gently touch Agron’s wrist – like he used to when they were small. He doesn’t like it – whatever it is – that sort of acceptance and melancholy – that seems to float around whatever is going through Agron’s mind.

“I trust Nasir.” Agron seems to know what Duro’s next question is going to be, turning his head to gently bump his forehead against Duro’s. “Come on. We gotta go.”

He’s barely two steps into the dining room when Nasir perks up, turns his whole body to watch his boyfriend’s slow approach. Something is bright and flashing on his computer, downloading and piecing together, but Nasir ignores it all, gives Agron all his attention with a soft, gentle smile. It seems to ease some of the tension out of Agron, who softens his gaze a little, coming to trail his fingers along Nasir’s jaw. 

“We gotta go take care of some shit. You going to be okay here?” Agron asks, ignores Castus’ watching them. 

“Yeah. Gonna work on this for a bit and then I think I’ll go see Naevia. Surprise her.” Nasir leans into the touch, nearly raising out of the chair to get closer to him. Even after last night, he feels raw, touch starved and desperate to feel Agron. 

“You remember what we talked about last night?” Agron asks, choosing his words carefully as Nasir gives an understanding nod. “Who do you want?”

“Whomever.” Nasir shrugs a little. “Except-“

“He wouldn’t come anyways.” Duro cuts in, laughing a little. “Unless it was to raid Agron’s top drawer. Or maybe bedside drawer? Or just roll around in his dirty laundry?”

“Shut up.” Nasir snaps his teeth at Duro, giving him a threatening look before turning that sugary sweet smile back up at Agron. “Whomever you want. I’ll be fine with it. Just be careful today.”

“I will be. You be careful.”

Leaning in, Agron presses a kiss to the center of Nasir’s forehead, right between his eyebrows. He’s done it for their entire relationship, something special and loving, only for them. Nasir melts under the attention, leans into the press and then puckers his lips, getting a chaste kiss on the mouth as well. 

“I’ll text you later.”

Agron lets himself lean back, forces his feet to move and for his rage to calm as he leaves Nasir sitting at the table with that Pirate shit. He had made a promise though, to trust Nasir, to believe in him, and if that means leaving him with the enemy in their own house – well, Agron has to do it. Or at least until the security detail assigned to Nasir comes over. Then he’ll have eyes everywhere. 

He’s nearly to the front door when he hears his name, Nasir lingering in the doorway between the two rooms, twisting the end of the flannel over and over in his hand. There is a shy little tilt to his head, cheeks rosy, even as Duro stares at him confused. 

“One more?” Nasir mumbles, looks at Agron through his eyelashes, and Agron is already halfway across the room again. 

He kisses Nasir the way he always wants to kiss Nasir, open and wet, cradling his face between Agron’s large palms. He tastes every inch of him, breathes him in and lets Nasir be filled up with it, caressed and loved so much until Nasir is panting, rocking up on his toes. There is a satisfaction in doing this in front of Castus, a smirking little ego in the back of Agron’s mind, but he would kiss Nasir like this forever – regardless of who was watching – if he could. 

“Love you baby.” Agron mumbles, pulls back to press a cute, quick kiss to Nasir’s nose. “Love you so much.”

“Love you.” Nasir grins wide, rumpled and lovely and flushed from all the attention. 

Agron gives him one more, just a small one that has Nasir giggling, before he forces himself out the door – his chest feeling lighter than it has all morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Follow me on [tumblr](http://venomedveins.tumblr.com/) and come say hello!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so late with this and I'm so sorry! This chapter was a beast and it still didn't have everything in it that I thought it would. I'm already starting on the next chapter though, so hopefully it won't take as long. 
> 
> I hope all of you are being safe and making good choices for yourself. Thanks for the continued support. It means the world to me.

Slumped heavily in the corner of the couch, Gannicus holds his head up with his fist, free hand flicking over his laptop. He's been pouring over news articles, expos, Facebooks, Instagrams - anything that might link the Romans together. Someone has to have tagged someone who knows someone who is linked to someone else. He thought it would be easy to find the guys who attacked the shop, but every photo is an endless sea of men in polos, oxfords tucked into khaki slacks, boring shoes. Or worse, the neon shirts, track pants, and snapbacks of the rich athleisure.

He's lost focus a while ago, lulled by the warm scent of coffee from his mug and the comfort of being somewhere familiar. The office shouldn't feel like a second home. It's lofted above a gym filled with body builders, muscle heads, and fighters – most of whom are seasoned criminals. It's not always the safest place to be and yet there are pictures of Oenomaus and Melitta on the desk, of his friends and family, of the gang. They're parts of them all over the office. A throw blanket is half draped over the back of the couch, the edges a little crooked from when Chadara went through that sewing phase. An evil eye hangs large and unblinking over the doorframe - definitely a gift from Nasir. Even the bottle of Bordeaux in the cabinet must be from Crixus. 

Gannicus wishes there was something left over from him, an impression that lingers, that maybe someone will see and think- huh, Gannicus was here. He wonders if Oenomaus notices the little things and _considers_ , looks at the trinkets left behind by Gannicus, like the mug at his wrist. It's the only mug in the entire office that Gannicus uses exclusively, shaped like a rooster with the tail as a handle. Melitta had scrawled ‘my cock rages on’ in a paint marker along the rooster’s cherry red wing. 

Maybe it wouldn't matter if Gannicus wasn't always thinking about Melitta and Oenomaus. If he could lay out in his van, staring up at the glow in the dark stars, and not go over what it would feel like to be wanted by them. To be wanted in a pure, simple way. To fit between the two of them without having to force it, to just collide and intertwine. Gannicus knows it would be that easy. He would do whatever it took. He can respect their boundaries, knows that marriage is hard work, that allowing another person into a strong bond takes time. But fuck, Gannicus would _try so hard_ if it meant that it could work – that maybe all the love and longing in his heart wasn’t for nothing. 

The door to the office creaks open, vintage hinges heavy and a little worn around the corners. Oenomaus looks tired, back bowed and slumped, the hood of his sweat jacket helping to shield his eyes a little as he walks fully into the room. He doesn't startle when he notices Gannicus, only seems to frown further as he lefts the door swing shut behind him. 

"You're still here?" He asks, moving forward and around the desk. 

"Starbucks closed and their wifi is off." Gannicus tries to shrug. They both know he could have parked the van behind the shop and used theirs. Nasir has set him up with a pretty good mobile hotspot too. 

"I don't mind. It's just late." Oenomaus squints at the dull clock on the wall. It's nearly two in the morning. "Are you still looking for those guys?"

"Yep." Gannicus pops the p, leaning back away from the laptop, arms stretching above his head. "Can't find any fuckers matching the descriptions. It’s like they’re fucking ghosts."

Oenomaus makes a considering noise, sinking into his chair. The problem always has been that there are just too many Romans. Whenever something happens and they try to pinpoint the blame, it’s just a sea of white guys in designer clothes with blood on their hands. After a while, they blend together until all that comes of it is a renewed hatred of the whole operation. 

“I don’t think the others have found anything either. Agron didn’t mention it when he was by earlier.” Oenomaus finally sighs, turning his chair so he faces Gannicus. “What do we even have to go off of?”

“Saxa said they were all tall, dark hair. Built like a shit brick house. Naevia said basically the same thing but the one attacking her had what looked like a scar in his eyebrow.” Gannicus lists off, letting the computer screen dim before him. “Nasir, in a very helpful and very gay answer, said he was attacked by a tall, blond guy with an eagle tattoo on the left side of his neck and wearing a pair of Armani boots.”

“It’s not a lot but it’s something.” Oenomaus admits, rubbing long fingers into his eyes. Melitta is on a week of overnight shifts, their house a dark shell without her in it. Sometimes Oenomaus will find himself here, sprawled in his desk chair or even on the worn leather couch, stare up at the popcorn ceiling. It’s quiet on this side of the Southend, old factory buildings and businesses that know better than to stay open past five – even on a weekday.

Sometimes Gannicus will be around, parked behind the shop or even sprawled out in the office. Always eager with a joint or a fifth tucked into the pocket of his jacket. Oenomaus worries sometimes about it, watches those familiar brown eyes dilate, the black swallowing up Gannicus’ gaze until he’s happy but blank. Sometimes, it feels like he’s more fucked up than sober. Oenomaus has held his hair back numerous times, bodily wrestled him away from his vices, gotten him onto couches or random mattresses, make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit.

But Oenomaus admits to himself every time that he wouldn’t be anywhere else, _couldn’t_ be anywhere else than beside Gannicus. He’s been friends with him for too long, too committed to staying by his side in everything. He was Oenomaus’ best man. His best friend. The only one he would trust with his life. In some ways, Oenomaus is sure that Gannicus and him are cosmically entwined – souls supposed to be finding each other in this great abyss. 

“Shit.” Gannicus sighs deep in his chest, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to do, man. Agron is fucking foaming at the mouth for us to find these fuckers. I think he’s ready to go choke Caesar out at this point himself.”

“Understandable.” Oenomaus nods his head. “Nasir almost died. You know, as much as I do, that any attack or harm comes to him and Agron instantly internalizes it. He’s always been that way. Takes all the guilt and blame upon himself.”

“Yeah. The whole situation had him really fucked up.” Gannicus taps his fingers over his keyboard, not typing but just giving them something to do. “I mean, I get it. I would have been the same if something had happened to you.”

Oenomaus cuts his gaze to the side, watches Gannicus’ profile from the corner of his eye. There is light from the side lamp spilling across Gannicus’ curls, looking bronze and untamed. He’s staring at his hands, frowning at them as they rest uselessly on the keys. Oenomaus doesn't know why, his stomach tightens, has to curl his fingers against his knees to keep himself from reaching out - to touch the hinge of where Gannicus' jaw melts into his neck. 

"So um," Oenomaus clears his throat. "Who all have you researched?"

"Fuck. Everyone." Gannicus knows an out when he sees one, so he takes it, taps on the screen on his laptop to wake it. "I went through literally everyone. All of Crassus' top guys. Tiberius' friends. Glaber's friends. Took apart Caesar's crew as much as I could. Marc what's his face, Ovidius, Titus, that one asshole Batiatus."

"Did you check Varinius?" Oenomaus asks, head tilted against the back of his chair. "He just go back into the country. Think he was over in Italy a bit."

"Caesar's cousin? Yeah. I looked." Gannicus grumbles, shaking his head. "It's all nothing."

"Varinius isn't Caesar's cousin. You're thinking of Marius." Oenomaus rolls his chair closer to the couch so his knees bump into the leather. "Varinius is the one that got into that scandal last year. With the brothel. Crassus sent him away to avoid the press until they got it cleaned up."

Humming, Gannicus pulls up the search engine. He has other tools he could use - databases that Nasir has compiled, searching systems that pinpoint and archive all the recognizable Romans. It's a continuing and expanding system - something that is one of a kind and only the high ranks of the Rebels knows about. But in this case, fucking Google could work to their advantage. 

It only takes a moment, a click to the images with the name in the bar and there he is. Strolling across a street, gray suit jacket pushed back with his hands in his pockets. He's blond, tall, wearing tailored shoes that glint in the afternoon sunshine. And there, just above his collar, half hidden behind starched white, is the dark curl of an eagle's wing. 

"Fuck." Gannicus gasps, wrenches the computer to the side so Oenomaus can see. "Fuck! That's him! How the fuck-"

"Crassus brands his high ranking generals. He would have put something obvious on him as punishment for causing the mess." Oenomaus explains, can't help the small grin on his face as Gannicus tosses the laptop onto the coffee table, rolls over until he's upright. 

"Oenomaus! You brilliant, fucking, genius!" Gannicus' voice carries over the office, nearly falls as he launches himself off the couch, practically lands in the other man's lap. "We have to call Spartacus-"

The words die up on his tongue, mouth left half open as he seems to realize what he's just done. Gannicus is straddling over Oenomaus' long legs, hands hooked on the plush back of the couch. Oenomaus isn't touching him on purpose, head tilted back, eyes huge and startled as Gannicus' weight settles further onto him. 

There isn't any air in the room, Gannicus' sharp exhale ghosting all over Oenomaus' mouth. He can taste the stale gum wedged behind Gannicus' molars, can smell the patchouli and cloves that seems to linger in his clothes, in his hair. They've been this close before, been pressed tight, but never like this. Never with Gannicus' strong thighs around Oenomaus, his ass pressed to the top of his legs. Oenomaus' hands mean to raise, to steady him, but Gannicus drags in a wet, shuddering breath. 

"Oenomaus."

Carefully, Gannicus' fingers slip off the back of the chair, move to the stubbled on Oenomaus' jaw. He holds him tenderly, carefully, so scared that he's fucking this up. But he can't fucking stop. He just wants to know - just needs to know - if everything he's been feeling is all one sided or not. 

"Gannicus," Oenomaus leans into the touch even as his brow furrows. "What are you doing?"

"I just-" Gannicus thinks of all the times he's wanted to do this, all the moments when it felt so close and yet so far away. How many times had Gannicus wanted to reach other, pull Oenomaus to him, to kiss him until they're breathless?

"I'm married." 

Oenomaus' eyelashes flutter, hand raising to grab Gannicus' wrist, stopping him. 

"I know." 

Gannicus answers him, watches the sadness and betrayal saturate across Oenomaus' face. He's reading it all wrong, jumping to the wrong conclusions. And how can he not know? That Gannicus loves Melitta. Has a heart opened for her because she's important to Oenomaus. Because she's just as beautiful and smart and brave as her husband. 

"Get off me." Oenomaus turns his head sharp, wrenches away from the hand on his face. 

"No, no listen. Oenomaus." Gannicus scrambles to his feet, feels the situation quickly spiraling away from him. "I know you're married. I wasn't-"

"You know my wife. You were my best man. For fuck's sake, Gannicus. This isn't a game." Oenomaus snaps, shoves his chair back as he stands. 

"I know. I know. But listen. I wasn't-" Gannicus tries to find the right words, forcing sentences together. "I love her too."

"What?" Oenomaus stops behind the desk, looks close to murderous as he peers as Gannicus with narrowed eyes. 

"I love her too. I love Melitta too." Gannicus spreads his hands wide before him, voice pleading. "I love you both so much. You have to know that. Oenomaus, please. You have to know."

The silence stretches slow, bitter in the dark office. Whatever excitement was before is gone as Gannicus feels his legs shaking, feels the bile in the back of his throat. This isn't how he thought this conversation was going to go. He knows it probably should have happened between the three of them, when Gannicus was completely sober, when everything was laid out and Melitta could mediate between them - make them both listen to reason. 

And now everything feels like it's falling apart, like all the sand castles that Gannicus built up - all the dreams of the three of them, of the power and love behind it - just got all swept away by the cold wave of reality. Of course they wouldn't want him. Gannicus is a fuck up. A fucked up pothead who runs around in a van and would rather be in a bar fight than a serious conversation. He's not worthy. Not even a blip on Oenomaus and Melitta's radar. 

"Fuck." 

Fighting Irish. That's on a bumper sticker on the back of his van, a leprechaun flipping everyone off. It was a gift from Agron, who had laughed loud when he had given it to Gannicus. But Gannicus doesn't feel like fighting this - already knows he's lost. He turns on rubbery legs, checks his shoulder hard on the doorframe as he slams out of the office, basically runs to the metal stairs. 

He wishes Oenomaus would call out to him, make him stop, give him a reason to - but the gym stays silent. It's a dark, bitter mass behind him as Gannicus slips behind the wheel of his van. The lamp in the office is still on, illuminates the window, but Oenomaus' shadow isn't there - isn't watching him go. It's vacant and bright - an icon to remind Gannicus that there is no place for him here. Not anymore.

\- - - 

Nasir was barely eight when he entered the system. Everything before is all just hazy fragments, dull memories that sometimes he's not even sure sometimes are actually real. Maybe he made them up, imagined the smell of cardamom and gold curtains fluttering in the wind. There was a brother, older with hazel eyes, that used to hold Nasir's hand all the time when they would walk down to the park. Nasir always needed a boost to get on the jungle gym. He wishes he could remember him more - a name, a face, anything.

He had a mother. He remembers that, even if he can't remember her face. Nasir knows that she was beautiful, used to sing to him at night when she brushed his hair. She had always let it grow long, near the middle of Nasir's back, waves and curls left unruly when it dried. There was nothing that Nasir needed to be other than who he was - young and happy. 

The second home that Nasir was in, when he was about ten, was run by an ex-military type - memorabilia up on the wall, medals framed in thick shadow boxes, a flag always on the pole. He had his two older boys hold Nasir down on the first night in the house, had cut his hair short and neat, jagged buzzcut that had nipped his ears. All that hair, wasted on the ground under Nasir's feet was a sign - a clear indication that Nasir was other - and other was bad. 

Only a few people know that Nasir spent the majority of his time in the system in Roman territory. That he actually attended middle school and the first year of high school with Caesar and Tiberius - though Nasir was no where near their inner circle. He would bounce in for a few months with a family, and then get moved and begone for a few months. Back and forth, never on their radar, but always aware of them. He has yearbooks with their faces in them - grinning in basketball and football team photos while Nasir lingered in the back of technology club. 

It's nothing Nasir had control over, of course, but it's not something he likes to remember. He was always the brown kid in the back of all of the family photos, the 'charity case' of rich parents who wanted to seem like compassionate, Christians to their friends. Nasir has stood in so many naves, staring up a cross and wondering why? Why him? Why was he not good enough? Would he ever be good enough for anything or anyone?

Nasir wishes sometimes that he could go back in time and tell his younger self that the pain, the rejection, the fear wasn't going to be forever. He knows ten year old Nasir wouldn't believe him, not standing in that bathroom with the bruises on his arms, his hair stuck to the tail and his feet. He wouldn't trust that things would get better. That one day, Nasir would be surrounded by people who love him - no matter who or what he is. That they would fight and grow and love one another without the worry of whose blood was in whose veins. 

Younger Nasir would have never thought, not even dreamed, of himself where Nasir is now - happy and content. Standing in the kitchen of a bar, The Neighbourhood crooning over the radio in the back corner. He's supposed to be chopping vegetables, kitchen knife set on a cutting board just before him and a bag of potatoes nearby. He's supposed to be helping get a jumpstart on the cooking because once again, Nemetes is late and Lugo has the day off, but he's _distracted_. 

Agron has his head tucked over Nasir's shoulder, his nose buried in his hair. Jesse Rutherford's smooth voice croons about love and flaws and Agron sways them back and forth, pressing a kiss against Nasir's neck. 

"Ags, the stew-" Nasir tries to protest, weak and without much intention, as he leans back into Agron's hold. It's late morning. No one is in the bar. 

"It's seventy degrees out. No one is going to order it anyways." Agron's voice is lost just behind Nasir's ear, his body warm as he presses his chest further into Nasir's back.

"You put it on the menu." Nasir tries to reason, hands slipping off the cool metal of the counter, resting against Agron's forearms. "I'm here to help you and you're-"

"Giving you encouragement." Agron moves his hips slowly, just a barely there press of his belt buckle against Nasir's ass. 

"Not that type of encouragement." Nasir giggles, tries to tug out of Agron's grip, managing to turn around. With the way the kitchen is set up, there isn't anywhere for him to go, tucked back against the counter, the sharp edge digging into his lower back.

"It's always worked before." Agron shrugs, unbothered as he shifts his stance, backs up enough to give Nasir some space. His gaze is honey slow though, tracking from Nasir's scuffed sneakers, up over his jeans and Wooden Nickle t-shirt. He's pulled on an apron too, the strings synched tight around his waist and tied in a small bow in the center. It's doing things to Agron, chest tight with out familiar this all feels - like Nasir is supposed to be here, _was meant_ to be here.

"You remember that summer you got that job in the ice cream place?" Agron asks, smirk small but growing. "Like right before senior year?"

"Ugh. Yes." Rolling his eyes, Nasir tries to keep the blush off his face. He remembers all too well working at the Creamery Shack on Maple Drive. How he's pretty sure he only got the job because the owner had scared away all the other high schoolers. "That job was the worst. Just bratty kids and fucking skeeves from school. And what's his face? Solonius."

"He got what was coming to him." Agron shrugs, unbothered by it. All it took was the one time Crixus caught him checking Naevia out for him to get jumped in the alley by the dumpsters. 

"I remember." Nasir also remembers that it wasn't just Naevia Solonius would stare at.

"You looked cute in that little white hat though." Agron teases, reaches out to touch a stray hair on Nasir's cheek. "Your little bowtie. Loved comin' in and watching you work."

"And it wasn't because of all the free ice cream I used to give you." Nasir rolls his eyes, tries not to give into the flirting. "You said you gained like fifteen pounds that summer."

"I did." Agron takes a small step forward, crowding him in slowly. There is no where for Nasir to go, pressed up against the sharp edge of the counter. "Was kinda worth it. I mean, you remember the deep freezer in the back? The one with the lift up lid?"

"I remember almost losing my job because-" Nasir has to tilt his head up to look at Agron, feels the heat inching over his cheeks and onto his neck.

"Because?" Agron prompts, places his hands on the counter on either side of Nasir's hips. 

"You know why." 

Nasir drops his face, suddenly too shy to say it. Agron already knows though, has a very vivid memory of all the times he used to sneak in when Nasir was forced to close by himself. No one would be around, dining area vacant, so there was no one to know when Agron would help himself over the counter, tugging Nasir to the back by his apron strings. They got very acquainted with that freezer, especially because it made Nasir just the right height when he sat on it. 

"I remember you used to always smell like vanilla and cherries." Agron's smirk is wide, ducking his head to nose against Nasir's jaw. "So sweet for me."

" _Agron_ ," Nasir groans, lifts his hands to press into Agron's chest. "The bar is opening in twenty minutes."

"I know." Pressing an open mouthed kiss to Nasir's neck, Agron teases his teeth against it - just a warning press. "I don't need that much time."

"We can't fuck in the kitchen." Nasir protests weakly, tips his head back when Agron trails his mouth up to kiss him. After so many years, it shouldn't affect him the way he does, already feeling his knees get weak even as Agron's tongue curls into his mouth. 

"We can't fuck in the kitchen, _again_?" Agron asks, breathes it against Nasir's lips before diving down and kissing him again. 

Nasir could fall into it. It wouldn't be the first time he forgot about responsibilities and concerns when Agron gets like this. But they really do need to start working, and Nasir has been locked up in the house for six weeks. Even helping the Nickle get a start on their 'fall menu' seemed like a holiday compared to staring at a computer screen all afternoon. 

"No. No. Agron, _fuck_ , we can't." By some miracle, Nasir manages to duck out of his boyfriend's hold, skittering to the side and taking refuge behind a few stacked crates of potatoes. "We're responsible adults."

"I have a condom?" Agron shrugs a little, wrinkling his nose. It's almost obscene the way he's already straining against his zipper. 

"Mature, responsible adults who don't defile a workplace because they have no self control." Nasir points his finger in warning when Agron takes a shuffling step forward. "You asked me to come help make soup-"

"I mean, I think you'd call it cream-" Agron starts, scoffing at him, but Nasir makes a high pitched noise in the back of his throat, eyes going wide. 

"No." Smoothing his hands down his apron, Nasir takes a shuddering breath. This is not the time nor the place. "Now, I'm going to come over there and start on this-" He pauses with Agron's smirk, clearing his throat. "This dish. And you're going to start on the roast. And you're not going to try anything else and keep your hands to yourself, right?"

"Mm, I'm dunno. I'm kinda liking bossy Nasir." Agron's gaze is slow as he tracks down Nasir's face. "Can you say it again but maybe smack that spoon on the table? Really lay down the law."

" _Agron!_ " Nasir warns, grumbling a little as his boyfriend lets out a charmed, if not lewd, grin. 

"Okay. Okay. Can't blame me for trying though." 

Agron throws his hands up, relenting as he returns to his side of the counter, pulling the box of wrapped packages towards him. It doesn't stop him from sneaking glances at Nasir though, watching him pick up the knife and start in on the carrots. He's not doing anything amazing or awe inspiring - but maybe that's it. Maybe Agron is mesmerized because of the simple fact that it's Nasir. Nasir who he almost lost. Nasir who makes Agron's chest ache and mind race every time he walks in the room. Maybe he's just overwhelmed by how much he loves him. 

He's recovered enough that Agron doesn't worry every time Nasir moves or breathes. Though, Agron doesn't think he'll ever fully be over the fear of it. Nasir can raise his arms above his head now, can go up the stairs normally, can bend over - if but carefully - and barely grimaces. But Agron sees the scar every night, watches Nasir rub coco butter into it, the puckered skin looking tight and sore. Agron hates it and loves it in the same breath. Proof of Nasir surviving, even if he was hurt in the process. 

"Hey, you remember that homecoming dance? Like junior year?" Agron asks, fingers working on tying the butcher's twine around the roast. "When you first started hanging out with us?"

"You mean the one I got kicked out of because Rhaskos sent everyone Chadara's nudes? And that asshole gym teacher told me I didn't need to resort to violence?" Nasir glances over, smirking a little. "Rhaskos still won't be alone in a room with me. Flinches every time I walk by."

"Well, you were kinda curb stomping him on the bleachers so." Agron shrugs. He knows Rhaskos deserves it. It had all happened so fast. One minute Nasir had been at the table, disinterestedly picking at the confetti, and the next he was bounding over and slamming his full body into Rhaskos' back. 

"Fuck, Crixus picked me up like I weighed nothing and just like threw me at Spartacus." Nasir lets out a giggle, shaking his head. "And you were so mad. Fuck, I always thought you were upset with me because I caused a scene. Everyone was staring."

"I wasn't mad at you. Rhaskos deserved it." Agron grumbles, feels the tips of his ears go hot. "Crixus didn't need to manhandle you like that. You were feral, yeah, but you were like one twenty soaking wet. And he left bruises on you. I remember them on your arms."

"He felt bad about it." Nasir shrugs. Crixus had apologized, even if it was rushed and a little awkward, probably spurred by Naevia's anger. 

"Doesn't fucking matter if he felt bad." Agron's voice turns sharp, teeth clenched. "He had his hands all over you."

"Oh my god." Knife clattering on the stainless steel, Nasir turns slowly, eyes wide. It's a sudden realization, bubbling glee expanding in Nasir's chest. "You were jealous." 

"I wasn't jealous." Agron scoffs, attention very carefully centered on the knot he's failed to tie three times now. 

"Oh, you totally were." Nasir goads, his grin only growing as Agron refuses to look over at him. He abandons his knife to get closer to Agron, taking even measured steps. "You were so jealous. Oh my god. So mad at Crixus picking me up."

"That's not-" Agron goes to argue, sighing exasperated as Nasir's cold fingers poke into his bicep. He wipes his hands carefully on the rag nearby, taking in a slow breath. "I wasn't-"

"So jealous. Crixus had his arms wrapped around me. Had me pressed up against him." Nasir taunts, tapping over and over into Agron's arm. "Probably so mad that I let him get away with and you didn't even get to touch me until-"

It's cut off abruptly as Agron turns, a practiced move where one moment he's barely facing Nasir and the next, his arm is wrapped around his shoulders, yanking him forward. Agron gets his hand tangled in Nasir's hair, tastes the laughter in his mouth, the teasing remarks left unsaid. The kiss is rough, teeth nipping at Nasir's bottom lip, tongue soothing the pain just after.

"Shut up." Agron teases, bumps his nose against Nasir's. "You're so annoying."

"Mm, you like me anyways." Nasir grins, biting his bottom lip. 

"I do." Shaking his head, Agron sighs, fake put upon and exasperated. "Don't know why. But I do."

"Happy that I finally let you hold my hand?" Nasir asks, that teasing glint back in his eye. "Get a hand up my skirt?"

"I'm glad." Agron wraps his arm tighter around Nasir, pulls them together until they're pressed tight. "Every time I get to touch you."

Nasir grins wide, giggling breathless and adoring. "You're so smooth. So smooth."

"I am." Agron agrees, leans down to press a kiss to Nasir's forehead. "But I wasn't jealous of Crixus."

"No? Not even a little?" Nasir raises his fingers, keeping them half an inch apart as he pinches them. "A tiny, tiny bit? He coped a feel before you even had a chance."

"You did look really good beating the shit out of Rhaskos." Agron relents, wraps his hand around Nasir's wrist, tugs it down, linking their fingers together. "But I knew I'd eventually get you to like me. I just had to turn up the charm."

"You had a crush on me that early?" Nasir giggles, lets Agron press him back against the counter. They can’t seem to keep their hands still, caressing over skin and along the hems of clothes. "We barely even talked. You never said anything to me.”

"I had a crush on you from the start." Agron confesses, finding it easy to let the words spill out. "How could I not? You were smart. Beautiful. Had a wicked temper. Didn't give a shit about me."

"You were the hot guy who kept glaring at me." Nasir replies, squeezes their hands together. "I didn't know you weren't like plotting my murder."

"Well," Agron sighs, sways them a little, "it all worked out. I finally got you."

“You did.”

Nasir isn't tall enough to reach his face, so he peppers kisses along Agron's throat, down onto his collarbone. His shirt smells like laundry soap, like the cologne that Nasir can only associate with Agron. He buries his nose there, tucked into the hallow of his throat, hugs him tight. It feels like a long time since they’ve had a moment like this – a moment just to breathe each other in without worrying about arm placements or squeezing too tight. 

"Was this whole trip down memory lane just a ploy to get us to make out in your kitchen again?" Nasir asks, tucks his chin into Agron's sternum, staring up at him. 

"No, not exactly." Agron drawls slowly, brushes his fingers against Nasir's cheek. "I was trying to see if you remembered what happened after that."

"Um, I got kicked out. I think...oh." Nasir stops, expression turning soft. "You came out with me, didn’t you? And we hung out in the bed of Spartacus' truck. You had that flask of...god. What was it?"

"Jäger." Agron laughs a little, shaking his head. "You were so mad. And I was trying to make it better but the face you fucking made."

"It tastes like black licorice!" Nasir scrunches his nose, trying to recoil. "Disgusting."

"Okay yes, _but_ ," Agron draws out, tilts his head so he can peck Nasir's upturned mouth. "I think we should do that more often."

"Watch me beat up a fucking perv and then hang out in the back of Spartacus' car?" Nasir asks, confused. “I don’t know how his guards would feel-“

Agron slips his fingertips over Nasir’s mouth, silences the smart aleck response. He’s been thinking about this for a while, even before the attack. All the times Nasir had said it, hinted at it, given Agron a vague reason as to why they need to grow up a little. They’re not in high school anymore. He’s right. And maybe it’s time that Agron really starts showing Nasir what he wants in this relationship – that he wants them to move forward. 

“I think we should take time out just for us.” Agron explains, tapping his fingers against Nasir’s mouth when he goes to reply. He’s not done yet. “And I don’t mean because you got hurt or we’re fucking running surveillance for something. I mean actual time, like dates and shit. Things we’ve been pushing aside because of work or someone needing us. It doesn’t have to be extravagant. We’re not going to be able to just skip town. Spartacus would lose his shit. But, I think we deserve it.”

“Are you-“ Nasir starts, charmed and a little baffled, “trying to court me?”

“Fuck.” Agron sighs, forcing his eyeroll to pause as he stares up at the ceiling. “I’m trying to-“

“Yes.” Nasir interrupts, raises his hands so he can guide Agron’s face down. “Yes, please. I love that idea.”

“Yeah?” Agron can’t help the grin that slowly spreads across his face, dimples denting his cheek. 

“Of course. I love anytime I get to spend with you.” 

Nasir brushes his fingers against Agron’s jaw, pulls him down a little to kiss him fully. From this angle, pressed up against the counter, it’s easy for Nasir to get lost in it, overwhelmed and drowning the moment Agron’s tongue slips into his mouth. It feels so good to be able to do this without worrying about the strain on Nasir’s side, of his breath catching too hard from leaning into Agron’s body. He’s still tender, but not nearly as much, so he arches into it – grinds his hips against Agron’s thigh. 

It’s just getting good, wet and heavy handed, when suddenly the kitchen door swings open, smacking hard into the wall behind. Donar comes in first, rain clinging to his short hair and jacket, instantly freezing when he realizes what he’s walked into. Nemetes, behind and looking like a half drowned rat, doesn’t seem to mind and shoves past with a loud cry. 

“Holy shit!”

Nasir wrenches back, thankful that he's pressed to the cold metal counter so he doesn't slip on the tile. It's not like it's the first time anyone has walked in on them. Hell, people have seen them in more compromising positions before, it's a running gag at this point. But it's the way Donar's gaze goes wide, his mouth lax and open in shock. He's starting to flush, averting his eyes to the ceiling, to the side, as Agron pulls back with a growl. It's not hard to see the way his jeans are tented, showing how much the heavy petting had affected him. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Agron snarls, already pissed off and now just seething as Nemetes lets out a sharp laugh, raising his eyebrows. 

"I have to come to work, don't it?" He smirks, sauntering over to toss his coat on the hook by the door. "Had to see if the princess really was back in working order."

“Yeah, I’m back. Had to help Ags here because some asshole was late to work again.” Nasir ribs, smoothing his hands down his apron with a glare. There is just something about Nemetes that has always rubbed Nasir the wrong way. He can never put a finger on it, but it's just a sense of something - something wrong. 

“What can I say? Alcohol and early mornings do not mix.” Nemetes shrugs off his jacket, tossing it on the hook by the door. “I can see it really made a difference. You cut…one potato?”

“Still more than you.” Nasir flips him off. "Get to work, asshole." He pauses long enough to accept the kiss on his cheek from Agron before going back to his cutting board. The bar will be opening soon and no one in this kitchen is even half focused on preparing food for the lunch rush. 

Hurrying across the large kitchen, Donar stops close to Agron's side, lowering his voice so it's not overheard. There is a frantic gleam to him, barely stopping himself from reaching out and touching Agron's arm. 

“Where have you been? Were you here the whole time? You aren’t answering your phone.”

“It’s up charging at the register. “Agron shrugs it off, going back to his own work station. “I forgot to charge it last night. Why? What’s up?”

“Gannicus has been blowing up your phone. I heard it fucking ringing from the street.” Donar motions to the front of the bar. “You said you wanted a protection detail but then you come here by yourself? What are you doing?”

“I don’t need the lecture.” Agron rolls his eyes, pushing the bloody paper before him off into the trash. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m not lecturing you. But you can't expect to be safe-" Donar starts again.

"It's only for places that could be a threat. And you know, for a fact, I didn't call the detail for me anyways." Agron's eyes cut across the counter, watch Nasir's profile as he quickly chops. "I assign it when I feel I need it. Having a slow, _private_ moment for my boyfriend and me is not anyone’s concern.”

"Okay, but, you deserve safety too. What if someone had come in through the door? Would you be able to stop them? What if you got jumped? You never think-" Donar argues, his voice sharp and hushed.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Agron snarls, abandons whatever work he was trying to do and instead turns and faces him. "You think he's safer with someone else?"

"It's not just about Nasir." Donar grimaces, shaking his head. "It's about-"

"It's always about Nasir!"

It's the words that set him off. The way Donar is implying that Agron hasn't thought or considered all the possibilities. Agron is the one that requested the guard for Nasir. Agron is the one that ordered the detail to stay on him at all times. Agron has considered every possibility - every angle that someone could work. He's not going to be lectured by running security or not considering all the outcomes - especially when every night for the past six weeks, it's all Agron has thought of. 

"I only meant-" Donar starts, voice soft. This time, he reaches for Agron, places his hand gently on his shoulder, sliding up to cup his neck. "I just want you safe."

It's deadly quiet in the kitchen, the radio having cut out as Nemetes bumps into it, arms laden down with milk and butter. It's why the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board is so loud then, Nasir bouncing the cleaver off its edge. The trick looks deadly, sharp knife spinning in a circle, only to be caught once more in Nasir's fist as he points it at Donar. 

"Watch it."

Donar drops his hand slowly, keeps his gaze on Nasir's face. The knife never wavers, held straight and pointed, Nasir's scowl deepening until Donar takes a step away. There is no doubt in his mind that Nasir could flay him open and not even bat an eye about it, expression twisted into a snarl. Donar doubts that Agron would stop him either. 

He’s saved from spilling his guts across the tile floor by the sharp wail of a bagpipe, Flogging Molly's _Drunken Lullabies_ blasting through a cellphone speaker. Agron slides his gaze between Nasir's scowling face and Donar's shock before he steps around them, using his shoulder to throw open the kitchen door. At this point, he's too fucking sick of the argument to get into the middle of it. 

"Hello?" Answering the phone, Agron tucks it against his shoulder, staring out across the bar. There is so much already on the opening checklist, shit he hasn't even thought to do yet. 

"What the fuck, asshole?" Gannicus shouts, nearly deafening Agron's left ear. "You don't answer your fucking phone now?" 

"I was busy. I have shit to do, ya know?" Stepping around the bar, Agron starts flipping on the lights, illuminating the rest of the dining area.

"Oh, I'm sure you do. Is Nasir still able to walk?" Gannicus' laugh is a little _off_ \- more manic and high pitched. It's not the normal, boisterous one that he uses after he ribs Agron about something. And Gannicus always has something to say about Agron and Nasir's relationship. 

"Gannicus, what do you want?" Agron sighs. He's not in the mood for it today. He's overwhelmed and understaffed. And he just-

"We found the fuckers."

Gannicus says it so matter of fact, voice earnest and clear. He knows how long Agron has been trying to put a name to a face, has watched the surveillance footage more than any of them. And now - they have them. Or at least enough info to make a counter attack if they choose to. 

"You're sure?" 

Agron's hand wraps around the back of a chair, knuckles white with how hard he grips down into the wood. The fury washes over his fast, blood rushing as he closes his eyes. The same image plays over and over each time he does - the knife sliding into Nasir's body, his shocked face, the silent scream. He can still hear it bellowing over the speakers. 

"Yeah, Oenomaus recognized him finally." Gannicus confirms. "Spartacus wants to see you at the house asap. Gonna have a meeting about it."

"Okay." Agron gets out, grits it between his teeth. "Okay. Good."

"Bring the ol' ball and chain, yeah? If you can peel him off the mattress." Gannicus' does that laugh again, cackling really, and Agron hangs up on him in the middle of it. 

\- - - 

Spartacus' house is a house in only name. It’s technically an old, manufacturing plant turned fortress, settled in on a city block near the woods. It’s tall, steel walls loom four stories high with a chained fence and long yard around it. Most of the tall, glass windows have been replaced with bulletproof and plexi-sheets – giving light but sensible protection. It’s really sectioned off in two parts – the front being the real home, furnished and designed for comfort. The back is what the other Rebels affectionately call the ‘barracks.’ Or, where the rest of the arsenal sleeps. 

It’s not a far drive from the Nickle, but traffic is busy in the mid-day, so it’s slow going. Agron keeps the radio down, one hand on the wheel and the other over Nasir’s thigh. They haven’t said anything in over five minutes, Nasir’s face turned out his window, worrying his thumb nail between his teeth. Agron hadn’t really explained anything to him, only said they were needed at Spartacus’ and they found the Romans. He can’t imagine it’s an easy idea to swallow – all that trauma coming back to him. 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Agron murmurs, slowing the truck to a stop at a red light. “No one is going to force you to go if that’s what Spartacus wants to happen. It’s your choice.”

“Huh?” Seeming to snap back from whatever he was thinking about, Nasir turns his head, brow furrowed. “Oh. No. That’s fine. I know.”

He dismisses it with a wave of his hand, turning back to stare out the window. There is a small bakery on the corner, small cakes and platters in the window. The man inside is a pudgy sort, attractive in his round, pink face with a streak of flour on his cheek. Even through the hum of the street around them, the air smells like vanilla and spice. Nasir watches him place a tray of neat, strawberry cupcakes in the window, their pink frosting dusted with gold sprinkles. 

“Nasir?” Agron tries again, keeps glancing out of the corner of his eye. 

“Hm?” 

Nasir barely makes a noise, back to chewing on his nail. He wonders how the baker’s life is. If he spends his time worrying about simple, easy things like ordering more flour or if there is enough nutmeg in his pumpkin tarts. Does he ever stay up at night, tracing scars on his lover’s chest, knowing that one day it could all be over? Does he close his eyes and see the face of that snarling Roman, feel his lips against his skin?

“Baby, hey. What’s up with you?” Agron’s fingers flex on Nasir’s thigh, not tight but enough pressure to get his attention again. “Talk to me.”

“What? Sorry.” Guiltily, Nasir turns away from the bakery and the rushing sidewalk around them, shifts so he’s arched towards Agron instead. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve barely said anything since we left the bar.” Agron shoots him a frown, drawn back as the light changes and he has to drive forward. “Did Donar say something to you?”

“No. He knows better than that shit. He’ll just stare longingly at you and then jerk off about it later.” Nasir mutters, reaches down to peel Agron’s hand off his leg and instead lace their fingers together. “You really should say something to him.”

“Have you said something to Castus?” Agron asks, can feel it from the edge of his fingertips all the way up his arm as Nasir freezes, looking at him with wide, hurt eyes. 

“That’s different.” Nasir replies, his voice curt and soft. 

“H-“ Agron cuts himself off, swallows the words along with the lump in his throat. He could say more about it, but he doesn’t want to start fighting. “You’re right. It is.” 

It’s not a total lie. It is different. It’s different in a lot of ways. Agron has known about Donar’s crush on him since the eight grade. It had been a small thing, longing looks and a blushing face. Agron had noticed it most in gym class or changing out, even in the hustle of a high school locker room. Donar just always seemed to be there, close and silent, _yearning_ , and never asking for it. Agron has always tried not to lead him on, never to give him any indication that it was going to happen. 

Castus on the other hand, well, Agron knows that look. He stares at Nasir like he’s hung the moon in the sky, like he was sent down with stardust in his hair. And hey, Agron gets it. Nasir is magnificent and every day that Agron gets to spend with him, touch him, is a gift. But Agron also knows that hunger, that sweltering desire, in Castus’ gaze eventually turns to starvation after a while. And what do men like Castus, criminals with no loyalty, what do they do when their time runs out?

“He’s not as bad as you think he is.” Nasir’s voice cuts through Agron’s downward spiral. “I know you think he’s an asshole because he’s a Pirate, but he’s actually pretty decent. Tries to be respectful in the house. Never pries about Rebel stuff.”

“So, what do you talk about instead?” Agron tries to keep his voice steady, prying his teeth apart to say the words. He’s scared of the outcome, scared that Nasir wants Castus around, that he gives Nasir something Agron can’t. 

“I mostly train him on how different interfacing works. Help him crack into bank accounts and firewalls and security systems. He’s a quick study.” Nasir answers plainly, shrugging a shoulder in a careless way. “He told me if I ever left the Rebels, he’d find a place for me in the Pirates.”

Agron lets himself fall silent, barely breathing as he turns the truck down a narrow street. They’re getting close, the buildings starting to yawn with dark windows, business signs left to crack and rot. Nasir’s palm is warm against his, fingertips tapping out a quick melody on the back of his hand. Agron tries to focus on that count back from ten, tries to slow his racing heart. 

“Did you hear-“ Nasir starts, only for Agron to cut him off with a quick nod. 

“I heard you. Is that something you’re considering?”

Nasir stays quiet for a moment, turns fully on his side so he’s staring at Agron. There is a sad, resigned look on his face, half hidden behind Agron’s large sunglasses. Nasir knows in that moment more than he ever wanted to know, more than he can really handle. The truth that if Nasir wanted to go, if he wanted to leave, that it would break Agron’s heart – but he wouldn’t stand in Nasir’s way. He would let him, even if it killed him inside. And maybe Nasir always knew that terrible and selfless truth. But to hear it, to see it on Agron’s face, it’s too much. That Nasir has the power to hurt him like that. 

He moves their joined hands until they’re up near his face, squeezing tightly. Laying his lips against Agron’s knuckles, Nasir lets himself linger there, breathes the words against his now damp skin. The middle console is digging into leg, but Nasir tries to press against him as close as he can.

“Never. I’m a Rebel forever.” Nasir murmurs, kisses Agron’s knuckles again. “Besides, you’d hate being a Pirate.”

“Oh yeah?” Agron raises his eyebrows, looking out of the corner of his glasses at Nasir. 

“Yeah.” Nasir gives Agron his best smile, eyes squinting at the corners. “Why? You think I’d leave the Rebels and not take you with me? Love you too much to leave you.”

Agron pulls the truck up to the gate, letting it idle for a minute as he pushes his sunglasses up on his head. His chest feels tight, overwhelmed with the rush of emotion as Nasir beams up at him, large eyes wide and sincere. Keeping his foot on the brake, Agron lets his free hand slip off the wheel to tangle in Nasir’s ponytail, tilts his face up higher so Agron can press a slow, open kiss to his mouth. Nasir instantly leans into it, hums quietly as Agron tastes him, trying hard to press himself through the console so he’s even closer. 

Spartacus’ fortress looms in front of them behind the large chain-link fence, the gate topped with security cameras. There is no doubt in either Agron or Nasir’s mind that someone in the office is probably watching them, waiting for Agron to put the code in the small keypad to the left. Nasir knows the quality of the tech, installed it himself, the capture good enough they count the freckles on the edge of Agron’s collarbone. He’s not thinking about it when he lets out a sharp moan through, Agron’s tongue drawing circles on the roof of his mouth. It’s hot and distracting and Nasir wants to pull his clothes off and sit on Agron’s lap. 

“Love you too much baby. Way too much.” Agron murmurs against Nasir’s lips. 

“Yeah?” Nasir lets his hand drift, smooths down Agron’s chest, over his stomach, down between his legs. He’s half hard, chubbed up against his zipper from the heavy petting. “Wanna prove it?”

“Fuck.” Agron groans, only his seatbelt keeping him from arching his hips. It takes everything in him to reach down and wrap his hand around Nasir’s wrist, stopping his rubbing. “Wait. Wait. We’ve gotta go in there.”

“It’s been two months.” Nasir whines, nuzzles closer to kiss Agron again. “Fingering me doesn’t count. I want all of it.”

“It’s been seven weeks.” Agron mutters, forgets his argument and lets himself get distracted just for a moment as Nasir drags his free hand over Agron’s chest. “And you know I want to. Baby, I really fucking do, but they’re waiting on us. I told Gannicus we’d be right over.”“

“I know. I know. But I’ll be fast. I promise.” Nasir reaches down, unbuckles his seatbelt. “Just push your seat back. There’s still lube in the glove box, right?”

He knows Nasir is just stalling, doesn’t want to go in and have to talk about the attack again. He knows Nasir has nightmares about it, wakes up with a scream, reaching in the dark for Agron. Agron wants to make it better, wants to take it and save Nasir from the horror of all of it. He can’t though, so if this is way Nasir wants to cope with it, Agron will try and give him what he wants. Just _not right now_.

“Holy shit. Nasir. Fuck.” Agron hisses, raising his hands as Nasir works Agron’s seatbelt off, already reaching for his jeans. “We’re gonna have to prep and you hate riding for too long and we’re not even in park.”

“No prep. I can take it.” Nasir shrugs hastily, careful as he draws a knee up on his seat. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Hey, hey. We always have time for prep.” Agron catches Nasir’s jaw in his hand, guides him up until he can meet Nasir’s hazy eyes. “Take a breath, okay? I want you. I always want you. But baby, seriously, we don’t have the time and-“

_“Spartacus says you can’t fuck in his driveway.”_

A gruff voice calls out through the speaker to the right of the keypad, monotone and unamused. There is no one in the world that can make their voice sound so condescending and unamused at the same time. It’s a skill on Crixus can possess. He clears his throat loudly, a clear warning that whatever he can see through the camera he doesn’t want to. It gives Nasir enough of a pause, his fingertips frozen behind Agron’s zipper, staring up at his boyfriend with wide, shocked eyes. 

“Fuck you.” Agron lets his head fall back against the seat, staring up at the roof of the truck. His blood is pounding, can feel his cock pressing roughly against the back of Nasir’s palm.

“I was trying.” Nasir mutters, hastily pulling his hands away and turning back to flop on his own side again. His flush deepens, no longer spurred on by arousal but the burning embarrassment of being caught. 

“Baby.” Trying to sooth, Agron reaches out a hand towards him, tapping his chin. Nasir allows it, but not without a bitter, sharp sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Just go, I guess.” 

It’s the hot and cold, the calm and then the fury that finally does Agron in. He’s not a man of patience. He’s the type to act and then think about it later. Typically Aries. With Nasir, Agron tries to be the best version of himself that he can be. But it’s too fucking much. Between the shit this morning with Donar, the fucking phantom of Castus always hanging around, and now with Nasir’s sugary sweet to bratty snarl – Agron is done. 

Wrenching the gear shift up into park, Agron turns sharply in his seat with a snarled curse. Nasir doesn’t flinch, expects the fingertips gripping his jaw, tugging his face over. It lights him up inside, a frantic sort of pleasure at the way Agron shifts into commander, dominant even in the way he leans over the console. He kisses like he does everything else, aggressive and hot, flicks his tongue against Nasir’s lips and then doesn’t wait, bullies his way inside. Nasir is desperate in a moment, hands raising and then skittering over Agron’s shoulders. 

“Stop.” Agron growls, looms over Nasir as he slowly presses him back into his seat. “Don’t I always take care of you? Don’t I always give you what you need?”

“Yes but-“ Nasir whimpers, bites his bottom lip. 

“Then true me to do it again.” Agron’s thumb brushes against Nasir’s mouth, tugs a little on his chin. 

“I-“ Nasir struggles with the words, arching to keep close to Agron. “I’m sorry. I just- I can’t-“

“If it’s too much, we’ll go home, okay?” Agron soothes, knows already what Nasir is trying to say. He’s been trying to say it from the moment Agron told him about Gannicus’ call. Agron knows, of course he knows, how fucked up this whole thing is. It’s the first time one of them has gravely been injured, the first time it’s ever felt too real. 

“Take a breath, okay?” Agron whispers, presses his forehead against Nasir’s, gives him the words straight from his mouth to Nasir’s. “Breathe. We’ll get through this, do whatever you want to do, and then we’ll go home, okay? And I’ll lay you out and give you everything you need. For however long I need to.”

“Okay.” Nasir nods, leans up to kiss Agron one last time, sweet and soft. “ _Okay_.”

It’s a short drive from the front gate to the roundabout set before the front doors. Agron parks the truck behind what he knows is Saxa's baby blue Mustang. There are a pair of handcuffs around the rearview - probably snatched from a cop that broke up a bar fight. Saxa is an expert at snatching shit from people, sticky fingers and quick with it. 

The door is opened from a guard in a large black hoodie who takes one look at Agron and instantly drops his head, sliding back to let them in. From the outside, the house shouldn't be much - but it's all an illusion. The entry way is huge with a marble floor and wrought iron staircase, a gleaming chandelier casting light around the gold paintings on the wall. They barely make it six feet in the door when there is the soft clip of shoes on the floor, Mira appearing through a doorway with a large grin, dressed like she's on her way out. 

"Hey! I was hoping I wasn't going to miss you!"

" _Mira_." Agron greets warmly, reaching out and pulling Mira into a tight hug, kissing her cheek. He can see out of the corner of his eye as the guards at the doorways flinch, drawn to attention at the open display. He doesn't care though. He's known Mira since elementary school, has been her best friend since second grade. He'll kiss her if he wants to. 

"Shit, you're huge. How is my godson? Are you eating enough? Gonna make him big and strong like Uncle Agron?" 

Drawing back, Agron gingerly places his hands on her extended stomach, cradling it gently. She's already showing, five months in, her dress stretched taught over the bulk, though from the back you wouldn't know she's pregnant. Doesn’t matter though, Agron can still feel the knife pressed against Mira’s side. She is the head of weapons and training in the Rebels – more deadly with a handgun than anyone else in the entire gang. 

"He's good. Kicking a lot. Spartacus thinks he's going to be a soccer player." Mira grins, letting Agron pet over her as she reaches out a hand to Nasir. "How are you honey? We all were so worried."

"I'm okay." Nasir confesses, drawn close so he can kiss her cheek too. "All healed up now. Agron was a very good nurse."

"Was he now?" Mira laughs, raising her eyebrows. In all honesty, Mira never saw Agron be gentle with anything until Nasir showed up. 

"Of course." Agron wrinkles his nose at her tone, his hands resting on either side of her stomach. "And tell your husband I won't allow it. Little Agron Jr. in here is gonna be a rugby player. Football at the very least." 

"Oh, is that his name? Did you approve that with Spartacus?" Mira laughs merrily, shaking her head. "I think he might have some objections."

"Okay, okay. Fine. Nasir Jr. You know Spartacus wont' fight with that." Agron sighs, withdraws instead to wrap his arm around Nasir instead. "I think he honestly likes him better than me anyways."

"Oh, he definitely does." Mira agrees over Nasir's sound of protest, winking at him. "I'm pretty sure if I didn't get pregnant when I did, he might have tried to steal you away."

"Oh my god. Shut up." Nasir laughs, tucks his face into Agron's chest. "That is so not true."

"I said I would consider a foursome." Agron sighs wistfully. "I just can't promise I'll be able to do anything for...this." He motions at Mira's crotch, wrinkling his nose again. "It all seems very...wet."

"Shut your mouth Agron Giesler!" Mira cries, scandalized and laughing. "Besides, we've already talked about this. I don't need you to do anything. I just want to watch." 

"Oh, you didn't look at the security camera earlier?" A dry voice sounds behind them, Crixus appearing from one of the rooms. "The whole team of guards got to see."

"We didn't-" Nasir flounders, embarrassed as Crixus raises a slow eyebrow at him. 

"You installed the cameras, Nasir. They're very...high quality." He grimaces, nodding once as he steps towards another doorway, clearly on his way to do something. "Good to see you're back in good health though. Whenever you're done talking about...this...we're waiting for you both in the office."

"Damn. I missed it." Mira snaps her fingers, frowning as the door shuts behind him. "Well, maybe they'll give a woman some pity when I get too big to see anything below my belly. That's when I'll really need it."

"I'll make a note of it." Agron agrees easily, nodding his head in affirmation. "Send video to Mira when she can't find her vagina anymore. Isn't that counter productive though?"

"Agron!" Nasir gasps around his giggling, smacking a hand into his chest. 

"I'm just trying to be a thoughtful friend. I mean, do you have specifications? I can promise you that Nasir looks good from _every angle_." Agron shrugs his shoulder. It's been a running gag with Mira and him for a while, wildly inappropriate, but still. 

"I'll let you be creative." Mira pats Agron’s' shoulder. "Now as much as I'd love to stand here and talk about your sex life and the lack of mine, I've gotta head out. Be good, okay?"

"I'm always good." Agron smirks at her, kissing her cheek again before stooping to press one to the swell of her stomach. "Take care of Nasir Jr."

"Bye!" Mira laughs, kissing Nasir one last time before she heads for the front door. 

Shaking his head, Nasir casts a long look at Agron, clearly amused. He knows that Mira and Agron are basically tied at the hip. She's been one of Agron’s' best friends for so long it's almost like they're siblings. It's an easy sort of friendship, bonded in the way only two people who know each other in and out can. 

They only have a moment of reprieve, both of them trying to straighten themselves out, regain their composure. Then there is a whirl of movement, running feet on the stairs and voice bursting out around them in the large lobby. 

"Angel!"

Gannicus' collides with Nasir at full speed, arms wrapping consideringly low on his waist. He lifts like Nasir weighs nothing, spinning him in a tight circle with his feet off the ground. Nasir's shout of surprise easily turns into a laugh, staggering a little when Gannicus puts him down, smears a kiss to both of his cheeks. It's a little too wet, Gannicus leaning in again, his aim centered, when Agron's arm comes between them. 

"Easy! Easy you fuck!" Shoving Gannicus back, Agron glances from Nasir wiping at his cheek to the other man. "He still has broken ribs!"

"You sure? He looks perfect." Gannicus giggles that laugh again - the one Agron heard on the phone - frantic and high pitched. It sounds fucking manic, and even as he stands there, Gannicus sways on his feet. "Are you perfect, baby angel? Of course you are. You've always been perfect. God, I can see your wings. You're so pretty."

"What?" Nasir snorts, shaking his head. "What is wrong with you?"

"I'm good. So good. So fucking good." Gannicus grins wide, lets his gaze swim from one man to the other. "You guys wanna get out of here?"

"Get out of here? We just got here." Nasir laughs as Gannicus reaches out, touches his hair, ghosting his fingers down his ponytail. "Weren't you the one who called us?" 

"Yeah but fuck it." Gannicus shrugs a little, swaying forward. "I've got some shit in the van. We can bake and shake." Making a fist, Gannicus pumps it up and down, raising his eyebrows suggestively. 

"Ew." Nasir wrinkles his nose, looking over at Agron in confusion. 

"Gannicus." Agron warns, though he can barely put any heat behind it, more concerned than pissed. 

"Doesn't have to be anything, Daddy. Don't get mad." Gannicus giggles, goes to slap Agron's shoulder and misses. "I won't touch. Just wanna see. Make a video or something. It'll be fun."

He spreads his first fingers and thumbs apart, makes a rectangle and looks through it, swaying it from Nasir's blushing face to Agron's scowl. "Bet you'd both look so good on one of those home videos. I'm telling you. Amateur is hot right now. Just need to hear you."

"Christ, is everyone obsessed with our sex tape?" Agron groans, rubs a hand through his hair, glaring up at the ceiling. "What the fuck?"

"We're just opportunists. See dollar signs every time you guys gets handsy." Gannicus slurs, his arms slumping down as he leans towards Nasir. "Come on Angel, tell him how good of an idea it is. You can't tell me you don't get a little hot thinking about it?"

"I don't think so" Nasir lets out a nervous giggle, keeps glancing over at Agron. 

"Mmm don't play shy. We all know you take cock like a champ." Gannicus reaches a slow hand out, slides it over Nasir's waist, down onto his ass. 

"Okay. Enough." Having reached his limit, Agron easy yanks Gannicus up, pushing him back a few steps. "I don't know what you're on but-"

This close, Agron can see the way his pupils have swallowed up the brown of his eyes. Red lines edge the rims, the gaze watery. It's the white powder along Gannicus' nose that gives Agron pause though, reaching out to wipe at it with his finger. 

"Gannicus, what the fuck?" Agron gasps, actually surprised. Gannicus is a stoner, a fucking pot head, and sometimes even a drunk. But that's where it starts and stops. The powder on Agron's finger is thick, dusty and pale white. When Gannicus focuses on it, he's suddenly lashing out, wrapping his hand around Agron's wrist. He's too quick, one minute staring up at Agron with wide eyes and the next he's pulling Agron's finger into his mouth. 

" _What the fuck?_ " Nasir echoes, stepping forward just as Agron yanks his hand back. 

"Waste not, want not. It's the good stuff too." Gannicus struggles to lean back in, laves his tongue over Agron's fingers to make sure he didn't miss any of it, sucking it down again. 

"Hey!" 

Agron sometimes forgets how strong Gannicus actually is, fighting with him to get his arm out of Gannicus' grip. He finally manages to wrench it away, only to reach out and grip his shoulder instead, keeping Gannicus steady on his feet. 

"Did you just fucking lick coke off my finger?"

"Where else did you want me to lick it off?" Gannicus smirks wide, tries to roll his hips forward when Agron shoves him hard, nearly knocking him over. 

"Agron!" Nasir hisses, slides up against his boyfriend and tries to steady Gannicus with fleeting, light touches. "He's really fucked up."

"I am, aren't I?" Gannicus laughs again, it choking out at the end as he suddenly lists forward, colliding with Agron's side. 

It's sure force of will that keeps them upright, Agron wrapping an arm around Gannicus ribs, holding him steady as Gannicus gives a shuddering breath. Nasir looks around, but all of the guards seem to have vacated their posts, the lobby left open and bare. Rolling his eyes, he turns back to the two other men, staying close incase Gannicus falls. 

"I'm so fucked up. Just a fucking asshole, right? Good for nothing Gannicus. A fucking joke." Gannicus is muttering, his forehead tucked into Agron's throat. "I wanna get fucked up, Ags. Let's go smoke. I'll let you take first hit."

"You're already high enough." Agron sighs, struggles to try and walk them towards the stairs. At least this way, Gannicus will be able to sit down. "Come on man, you need to come down. You can't go in there like that."

"Go down?" Gannicus asks and then giggles, head lolling back. "I would have. I really would have. Ya know, he probably wouldn't know what to do with me."

"What?" Nasir asks, helps get Gannicus down on the landing, propped up against Agron's side. "What do you mean?"

"Oenomaus." Gannicus squints at Nasir, watery gaze flickering over his face. "Fuck, you ever just want to suck the soul out of someone through their dick?"

Agron and Nasir's gazes meet over the top of Gannicus' head, both of them widening in surprise. It's not like everyone didn't know. Gannicus has been in love with Oenomaus and Melitta since before they even got married. He's never been so blatant about it though, forth coming and downright explicit. 

"I think-" Nasir starts, tries to choose his words carefully, but Gannicus just scoffs. 

"Would have done anything, ya know? Really anything for them." He rolls his head against Agron's shoulder. "Could do whatever they wanted to me. Just wanted a sliver, a fucking piece of it all. Thought I showed them, thought they were aware of it. But the way he looked at me. Like he fucking didn't know. Like he never even thought."

"Oh." Agron and Nasir say at the same time, gazes meeting again. 

"I'm not asking for much. Just a little love. Maybe a kind word. Something," Gannicus whimpers, the tears coming faster now. "But I'm too fucked up. Too much of a waste. A fucking deadbeat."

"No one thinks that." Nasir tries to sooth, takes Gannicus' hand in his own. "No one. I promise. He was probably just surprised. You know Oenomaus is really proper. He’s always yelling at us at the shop for being dirty or making an inappropriate joke." 

“Nah, you didn’t see him.” Gannicus spits bitterly, shaking his head. “Like I was a fucking monster. Fucking trash. Acting like he’s so much fucking better than me and ya know, he’s fucking right. I am a fuck up. A deadbeat.”

Turning more on his side, Gannicus tucks his face against Agron’s neck, fumbling against him. He’s still soaring, feeding mostly on sensation and the dull ache in his chest. “Come on Ags, let’s go outside. I just want a little more. Just smoke a little. Let you pick what you want.”

“You’re already high enough.” Agron sighs again, shaking his head. He needs Gannicus coherent, needs him thinking in this meeting, not fucking wasted. It seems his high is only peaking though, turning his face into Agron's neck as his voice cracks.

“Don’t want to think about him anymore. Hurts too much.” Gannicus’ cold nose drags along Agron’s throat, nuzzling into him. “I want to feel better. Don’t you want to feel good too? Know you do. Always so tense. So angry. Spartacus’ guard dog. All teeth.”

“Gannicus, come on. This isn’t the way to solve this. I’m sure if you talk to him again-“ Agron tries, his gaze snapping up to Nasir just as Gannicus’ tongue slides over his pulse point. 

“Okay, _okay_.” Nasir is quick to grip Gannicus’ shoulders, rolls him back over so he’s parallel to the couple, grip off of Agron. “You’re high enough and you need to sober up. You’re only making yourself feel worse by putting that shit in your body and hitting on people you know you can’t have.”

“I didn’t mean-“ Gannicus looks reasonably chastened, those watery eyes blinking up at Nasir. “I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“Hush. It’s fine.” Nasir sooths his fingers over Gannicus’ cheek, wiping away a few stray tears. “You need to focus now though. Don’t let all that hurt overwhelm you. If you don’t want to think about Oenomaus and Melitta – then don’t. Focus on why we’re here. You remember?”

“The Romans.” Gannicus answers, eyes squinting a little as he reaches for Nasir’s face. “You almost died.”

“I did.” Nasir nods, lets Gannicus’ fingers trace his jaw. “But you found the guys who did it, remember? The guy who almost broke Saxa’s nose? And hurt Naevia?”

“We were so worried.” Gannicus mutters, swimming in and out. “Fuck. Why does everything fucking hurt so bad?”

“I need you to help me get them, Gannicus.” Agron interjects, leans in close to Nasir. “I need to get them. Can you help me?”

He reaches forward, wraps his arm around Gannicus’ forearm where the Rebel’s brand sits. Everyone has one, somewhere on them, just first ones – the ones closest to Spartacus – share the mark on the same spot. Gannicus knows this, has had the red scarred serpent on his arm for nearly eight years. 

“Yes.” 

It’s an obvious answer. Gannicus, through all that pain and self-hatred, is loyal to his brothers. Had seen the gleam of madness in Agron’s eyes in that hospital waiting room. Had known that the revenge against the Romans was going to be sweet and brutal. It’s something to focus on – something to give his energy. 

"Are you guys fucking coming or not?" Crixus' voice is suddenly cutting, leaning out of the doorframe. He's scowling at the three of them, can't make sense of the fucking scene. 

"Yeah, we're coming." Nasir answers with a nod, gets to his feet. He holds his hand out to Agron, who takes it as he pulls himself up. Gannicus is slower going, staggering a little. He's not anywhere near sober, but he manages to follow the couple, keeps his head down so no one can fucking comment on his red eyes. 

The office is full of people, every chair and couch covered in them. Gannicus collapses onto the loveseat next to Saxa, doesn't even bother to greet her, just presses his cheek into her shoulder. They've had a strange, oddly understanding friendship since their break up - almost affectionate as Saxa reaches up to scratch a hand through his hair, murmuring something soft to him in German. 

Agron leads Nasir over to the only free couch by the window, motions with a flick of his gaze for Duro to slide over so he can tuck Nasir between the brothers. Nasir goes without question, keeps his grip on Agron's hand tight, draws it into his lap. He needs it to ground him, startling a little as Spartacus enters through a door on the other side of the room. 

"Thank you for all coming on such short notice." He begins, stepping up to his desk and sitting down on his large, winded back chair. "As you all know, Dominus' Auto Body suffered an attack nearly seven weeks ago at the hands of a few errant Romans. We nearly lost four of our family in a vicious assault that ended up with one of us in the hospital with major injuries."

Nasir purposefully doesn't look around, doesn't want to see the pity or sympathy on anyone's face. It's bad enough it happened, but to be reminded of it in the faces of those he holds most dear - it's too much. He instead tunes his gaze at Spartacus, lets his other senses blur out, lulled into a sense of safety by the feeling of Agron against him, can smell his cologne, can hear his slow breathing. 

"We've managed to finally track down the men who came into our territory and carried out the orders.” Spartacus steeples his fingers, looking out over the collection of men and women. These are his highest members – the ones he trusts the most. “Now we need to decide how we move forward with the information.”

“We shouldn’t attack.” Crixus is quick to speak up, his voice loud in the otherwise quiet office. “It paints a fucking target on us. They already know the shop is Rebel owned. Whose to say it won’t spread?”

“How can you fucking say that when your own wife was attacked?” Duro is quick to point out, his voice sneering. 

“I _can_ say it because she was attacked! They clearly were retaliating because you and your dipshit brother nearly killed Crassus’s son’s boyfriend!” Crixus snaps back, pointing his finger at the brothers. 

“We were following orders.” Agron speaks up then, his growl already in place. “When was the last time you took a foot mission?”

“Oh, are we supposed to be impressed because a bunch of German shits can bludgeon someone?” Rhaskos’ smirks, nudging his elbow into Acer’s side. “Fucking dogs.”

“If we don’t attack, then they’re just going to think they can get away with it. And they’ll do it again and again.” Donar reasons, lingering on the wall behind Agron’s couch. “We have to fight back. To show them we won’t take kindly to them crossing territory lines and attacking our people.”

“But we’ll do it to them? Entice them to fucking retaliate? When will it end? Who is going to land the final attack?” Acer cuts in, scoffing loudly. “You would start a fucking war over a few bruises.”

“Bruises?” Saxa’s head perks up then, her teeth clenched tight as she spits through a snarl. “You simple fuck. We almost died.”

“But you didn’t!” Rhaskos’ eyes trail over her, unimpressed and scathing. “You get a little roughed up and you expect us to risk our necks over it? Not like you don’t get into that shit every other night. Just mad because it wasn’t one of your German fuckers doing?”

The uproar is instantaneous. It’s always like this, the Germans and the French yelling at one another and spewing threats, insults, anything until usually fists get involved. It’s the clear divide in the rebels – everyone either loyal to Agron or to Crixus, who in turn are only loyal to Spartacus. It’s a clear divide though, the tension mounting the longer the yelling goes on. 

“Nasir and the Pirates are already working on a counter attack. Anything else will just distract us and give the Romans more of a reason to be violent.” Crixus shouts. He’s ended up on his feet, shouting across the low coffee table at Agron. “You’re putting us all at risk for petty revenge.”

“Petty revenge? You want to talk about petty revenge? How many Romans did we fucking kill when Naevia got kidnapped?” Agron is up on his feet in an instant, hand wrenched from Nasir’s hold. “Was it fucking petty then?”

“And you didn’t stand with me then!” Crixus shouts, taking half a step forward, knees knocking into the table. “You thought it was fucking pointless.”

“I wanted to protect those of us who didn’t want to die while you blindly attacked the fucking Roman side!” Agron and Crixus have fought about this often and in depth, usually ending up in fists and blood. 

“Enough!” 

Spartacus’ voices booms over the group, instantly stopping arguments in their tracks. He’s grown weary of it quickly, not in the mood to entertain the over inflated ego of his gang members. While they were busy yelling, Spartacus was quick to observe – taking in the way Naevia sat silent and stoic next to her husband, Saxa shouting in Segovax’s face, and then Nasir, who had curled into himself, watching with wide eyes. 

“Everyone out.” Spartacus motions towards the door. “Agron, Crixus, Gannicus stay.”

The others are quick to file out of the now double doors, tossing glances back over their shoulders. It’s not that rare that Spartacus loses his temper and throws them out – it just doesn’t usually take this long. Spartacus sinks to his chair again, rubbing his temples as the last of the French men shuffle out of the door. Nasir and Naevia go to get up too, but Spartacus makes a noise, shaking his head. 

“You stay too.”

They sink back into their respective seats, sharing a fleeting, soft smile at each other. This is all too familiar too. On the last couch, Saxa is basically pinned under Gannicus who is heavily leaning into her, his eyes half closed. It’s clear he’s coming down, trying valiantly to stay coherent. 

“Now.” Spartacus begins again, his tone calm but firm. “I’ve heard both sides. I think you both are correct on some points and wrong on the other. But I will not stand for screaming or name calling at my deliberation. Got it?” 

“Yes.” Both men echo, neither one of them bothering to look at each other. 

“Agron,” Spartacus turns his attention to the German, leveling him with a look. “I need to know if I tell you no on this, are you going to attack them anyways?”

Agron swallows hard, looks down at Nasir’s and his joined hands. He thinks of Nasir in that hospital bed, of his bruised body, of the cries at night of fear and pain. How can he just let that go? Pretend it didn’t happen? The way Nasir had been laid out on the cold, cement floor, all that blood around him, so light in Agron’s arms in the back of the van. 

“Yes.” Agron answers honestly, no point in lying. He knows he will. Knows that nothing will stop him from defending Nasir. 

“Fuck you.” Crixus sighs loudly, dropping his head. He rubs his hands over his face, digging into his eyes. “Really, fuck you, Agron Giesler.” 

The silence is yawning, thick with the unspoken rage. Agron’s hands are shaking, curled into fists on his knees. Spartacus looks between the couches, that solemn, contemplative expression hardening the longer it takes them to come to an agreement. Spartacus has been the referee between Agron and Crixus’ rage for nearly all of their lives, has bounced back and forth between, always one to try and sooth and find reason. 

“If I could say.” Leaning out from the back of the couch, Nasir turns his attention to Spartacus, addressing him directly. “It’s just that, Castus brought me the blue prints for the club. It’s big but not complicated, really easy systems and I’m almost done with the cameras too.”

“What does that mean?” Crixus interjects, looks up through his steepled fingers. 

“Just that,” Nasir swallows a little, glances at Agron and then back. “I think Crixus has a point in that an attack against the Romans will draw attention to us.” Agron scoffs loudly, only for Nasir to cut him off with a quick held up hand. “But I think Agron has a point too.”

“What’s on your mind?” Spartacus asks, his tone gentle as he coaxes it out of Nasir.

“If I was Crassus, I wouldn’t want us to know about the club. I’d want us distracted, fighting, desperate.” Nasir explains. “What better way to do that then stage a random attack? It’s like poking a wounded animal, bully them so they can only focus on the little jabs, not the bigger attack waiting in the grass.”

“You think they’re keeping our attention focused on something else so they can carry out their bigger plan?” Crixus asks, hand rubbing at his jaw. “It’s not unreasonable.”

“I do.” Nasir agrees, reaching out for Agron’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Agron moving against the Romans plays into their game, yes, but it also works for our advantage. They want us distracted because they think we don’t know about the club. The longer they think that, the better. They won’t be looking for us when we have to sneak into the place and set up surveillance.”

“Sneak into-“ Agron starts to protest but Spartacus cuts him off with a raised hand. 

“One issue at a time.” Spartacus stands slowly from his chair, moving around the edge of his desk. It’s a reckless and dangerous plan, and it relies heavily on the Romans being fooled. 

“If we do this, we do it in a small team. Only the best.” Crixus mutters, voice gruff as he relents. “And we do it fucking smart.”

“It’d be better if we do it like a robbery gone wrong.” Agron comments, leans his full weight back into the couch. “Sneak in, fuck them up, take some shit. Cops will be focused on that and won’t be as quick to target in on us. At least, the shits not on Roman payroll.”

“I can crack the security system in his house, whoever it is.” Nasir offers, meeting his eye. “We’ll go in and out, fast. No one to see.”

“I want two teams.” Spartacus motions between the men. “Crixus, you’ll take the house next door. Agron, I want yours in Varinius’. We run it like a grab and go. Get the men down and clear out. It needs to look random enough to keep them from knowing at first. Should be reported as a sting of robberies in the area.”

“Are we allowed to-“ Agron pauses, glances over at Nasir and then stops. He’s not sure he wants to say it in front of him. 

“Whatever it takes to get them down.” Spartacus already knows the question. “It’s your decision. Just don’t be careless.”

“Got it.” 

Agron feels Nasir’s hand squeeze against his, the pressure of the couch changing as he leans close. He’s all wide eyes and soft breath, side pressed along Agron’s. It does things to his chest, tightening as Nasir leans into him, trusts him to stay close and safe. 

“I want to do it.” Nasir whispers, tucks his chin against Agron’s shoulder. “When it’s time, will you-“

“I’ll help you.” Agron agrees easily, kisses Nasir’s forehead right between his eyebrows. “I promise.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is a lil late. I had such good intentions. Such good drive. And then...something happened. 
> 
> This babygate post came across my tumblr dashboard and I was like...this is dumb. wtf. and then, I took a long, long, long deep dive into the One Direction fandom. And did I become a larry? Did I ready four days straight of masterposts and facts and receipts and video evidence? Did I spend too much money on Louis Tomlinson merch? Because Louis is the sunshine king and Harry is his baby? Yes. Yes I did. To all of it!
> 
> Do I feel tragically single after all of it? Yes. 
> 
> But ya know, it's okay to be in love with love. It's okay to support LGBTQ+ artists that have clearly been abused and closeted by old white men. And they are beautiful and wonderful men so I'm happy to be a queer artist supporting other queer artists. So, whatever. I'm in it. If you wanna yell about larry, come bother me on tumblr. Cause I'm drowning in this ship by myself over here.
> 
> *** on a serious note, this fic now has a trigger warning for illusions to human trafficking and blatant gore/blood. Like, welcome to the Spartacus fandom. We have violence.

The Southend isn't exactly a small area, but it's broken down into complicated, defined boroughs inhabited by certain sorts. For instance, up towards where the Southend and Pirate territory touch, there is a lot of basic fishermen types, fishing families, with low houses and big trucks out front. It's near the river, so it makes sense. On the opposite side, out towards the retail heavy district with the big mall and industrial parks, it's mostly families and older people. The suburbs, if you can call an extra foot of yard space an upgrade. Towards the middle and south of the Southend is where the small businesses are, whole families who took the boat over from whatever country they came from - all chasing that American dream. 

It's within this neighborhood that there are the European pockets - Little Italy, New Brussels, Versailles Province, and the German District. They're all separated by one or two streets, but the feel of it - it's like walking into a new world every few blocks. The Wooden Nickle is on the corner of the German District, touching the Polish and Russian sides as well. It's like a small city inside of a city as everyone stays close in their community, shops at the same places, knows each other. 

Duro has said hi to at least four people before finding himself here - standing before the dairy cooler at the market on 12th. He's been coming here forever, knows the owners - Karl and Britta - went to school with their grandson Heinrich. Could probably stock the store with a blindfold on if he needed too, and yet here he is - staring over glass bottles of milk, cartons of brown eggs, containers of quark. 

He's gone back to his apartment, finally vacated his spot on Agron and Nasir's couch. He knows he could have stayed there longer, Nasir would have let him, would have given him more tea and forced him to eat more raw vegetables. Agron had even offered to make up the spare bedroom, all gentle and kind in the blue screen of their television. But Duro knows he outstayed his welcome, could only last so long in the house - especially with Nasir being all healed up. He's seen and heard enough to last a lifetime. 

So, he had returned home, to his empty apartment with his empty fridge and his empty bed. And because he couldn't do much about it, Duro focused on the one thing he could do - go and get food. He’s already managed to fill his cart with some necessities - coffee, pretzels, some Lucky Charms, sausages, and a dozen mini cupcakes with pink frosting. He knows that he should probably grab something that can be eaten raw and came directly off a plant, but it's hard. He just wants to use beer as his main source of nutrients - regardless of what Agron and Nasir say. 

"Duro?" 

The voice cuts through Duro's internal debate about the dietary pros of chocolate milk versus regular, as he glances up - catching Auctus' reflection in the glass door. He's wearing a sleeveless hoodie with the logo for the gym on it and basketball shorts, even though the temperature has dropped to low 70s as September is almost done. Duro has been actively avoiding him, forcing Agron to schedule their shifts opposite each other, avoids social media, and of course the one place Duro thought he'd never run into him - a fucking grocery store/deli at ten thirty on a Wednesday - and here Auctus is. 

"Uh, hey." Abandoning the cooler, Duro pivots on his feet, trying not to grimace as his sneakers squeal on the linoleum. 

"Long time, no see." Auctus' smile is a small, fleeting thing. It's barely visible behind the beard he seems to be growing. 

"Yeah, well, ya know. Family stuff happened and Nasir got hurt and I was busy." Duro resists the urge to reach up for his nose ring, slips his hands in his pockets instead. 

"Oh yeah, I heard about that. He alright?" Auctus seems genuine in his question, meeting Duro's eye. It’s still a dumb thing to ask. Auctus works at the Nickle and is in the Rebels. He's close to Barca. There is no way he didn't know the day it happened - they shut down basically everything so everyone could go to the hospital. _He was at the hospital!_

"He's fine." Duro answers, tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "You know, all things considered. Being fucking stabbed."

"Yeah, kinda crazy." Auctus exhales a deep breath, shrugging his shoulders. "Lucky it didn't happen at the bar or something."

“What the fuck does that mean?” Duro lets the words slip out before he can even out his tone. But honestly, fuck it. He’s tired of being PG about all this, being sad and mopey. Duro’s mad. He’s hurt. And he’s a fucking Geisler. So, what if he lets rage take over? “Why would something happen at the bar?”

“I-I didn’t mean – It’s just a central spot. Lots of Rebels are there and- The Romans picked the shop because it's a Rebel territory.“ Auctus struggles, shifts his basket of groceries from one hand to the other. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I'm just glad you're safe."

Duro narrows his eyes, lets his gaze linger slow and calculating over Auctus' body. He can see where Auctus is shifting his weight, looking awkward and yet earnest at the same time, fingers twitching on the handle of his basket. Duro can tell he wants to say something, the words just building inside, but honestly, Duro is tired of hearing him speak. 

"How's Barca?" He asks instead, tone pointed. 

“He’s fine.” Auctus answers automatically, brow furrowing at the sudden shifting in topic. ”I guess? I haven’t really talked to him.” 

“You sure? Because you guys were so close when we were dating.” Duro can feel the acid burning at the back of his throat, but he can’t stop. He won’t muzzle himself this time. “Always hanging out. Texting each other.”

Auctus gets it in an instant, his jaw dropping. “Oh, no. Duro, no. It wasn’t-“

“I just want to know if you guys started fucking again before or after you fucked me? Was I just like foreplay for you?” Down the aisle, a tired looking woman is perusing the cheeses. She quickly turns her head when she hears Duro’s voice, then recognizing him, she turns away. 

“Duro, Jesus fuck, I didn’t break up with you because of Barca.“ Auctus tries to get in, steps closer so he can lower his voice. “And I never cheated on you.”

“Fucking save it.” Rubbing a hand down his face, Duro shakes his head bitterly. “What you did to me…it’s whatever. Like fuck you but I’m over it. But my fucking god, to do it to him. To knowingly fucking do that. How can you even live with yourselves?”

Auctus looks confused, shaking his head dumbly as Duro continues. 

“Do you honestly think my cousin or my brother-in-law are going to let you keep your balls if you fucking hurt Pietros like that? He’s barely fucking twenty years old.”

Eyes widening, Auctus shakes his head hard. “Duro, no. Stop. You have it all wrong.”

“I don’t though, do I?” Duro can feel his voice raising, cutting through the soft organ music playing over the speaker. “I don’t. Because you fucking led me to believe we were starting a relationship. I finally put out and immediately, you give me some bullshit reason we need to break up? All a little too convenient whenever you weren’t with me, you were with him. I’m not fucking stupid, Auctus. I’m not.”

“I never said you were. Baby, you gotta believe me. I never meant-“ Auctus drops his basket, reaches both his hands out, but Duro recoils hard, slamming his back into the milk cooler. 

To the left is the butcher’s counter, a long metal and glass display of cuts of sausages and steaks. It’s there that the plastic flaps covering the door suddenly slide open, a man in a bloody apron coming up to lean on the polished glass. He’s got a cleaver in one hand, the other resting on the steel as he leans over, eyeing the both of them. Duro recognizes him as the owner’s grandson Heinrich, his eyes considering the situation before speaking. 

“You alright, Duro?” He taps the end of his knife against the countertop. It’s a clear warning. 

“Yeah.” Duro lets out, wipes a hand down his face. “I’m fine.”

“Duro, please.” Auctus murmurs, tries to keep his voice low even as he glances towards the looming mass of a man behind the counter. “You have to-“

“No. I don’t.” Duro puts all his venom into the words, grits his teeth sharp and deadly as he snarls at Auctus. 

“I think the conversation is over, _Arschloch_.” Heinrich drawls, seemingly unphased as he shifts his stance a little. This isn’t Auctus’ neighborhood. There is no loyalty to him here. But to Duro, to the Gieslers, it runs thicker than blood.

Reaching out, Duro wraps his hands around his cart, pushes it away from the cooler even as the wheels squeal a little. His knees feel weak, his legs trembling, but he manages to walk away somewhat steadily away from the dairy section. He can feel Auctus watching him, still frozen in the same spot, his basket abandoned at his feet. 

“Pay my respects to your brother, ja?” Heinrich asks as Duro passes. “For Oma and Opa too.”

“I will.” 

Duro smiles briefly, forces it to flit across his face. He has to remember what Agron means to these people. Sure, Heinrich was in the grade between Agron and Duro, has known them for most of their life, but he also knows who Agron is now. Who he is in the neighborhood. He’s as close to a king as they get in these parts – the one to help and to hurt when it needs. There is a respect and an understanding in the German District – being under Agron’s good graces means you’re protected by Spartacus. And there is nothing more powerful in the Southend then having the Rebels at your back. 

\- - - 

The wind is picking up outside, scattering the first fallen leaves over the backyard. Summer is long gone now, only the yawning beginning of autumn stretching overhead. It's enough of a chill that they're going to have to light the firepit later, careful to keep Lugo and Duro away from it. But for now, the group crowds together, laughing and talking loudly, bottles being passed around. It's been a long time since they've had a proper 'family dinner' but it's nice, the house a bustle of activity. 

There is food in the oven, a large roast with rosemary potatoes, counter top full of side dishes. Two bottles of wine are already empty by the trash, a half of a six-pack left to go out with the recycling. It would almost feel like a straight forward evening if not for the tension in the looks shared among them, the knowing glances for the real reason they’re gathered. This isn’t a family meeting, it’s a last supper. 

“Do you need any help?” Nasir asks, tucks in close and rests his face against the back of Agron’s shoulder.

"No, baby, I'm fine." Agron leans into it, hands flat against the sink. It's an easy movement, something they've done a thousand times before, pressed like pieces of one another - filling in the cracks. "Did Duro bring up the chairs from the garage?"

"Yeah. I think so." Nasir shrugs a little, nuzzles his face around so he can lean his cheek on Agron's arm. "There are a lot of chairs and not a lot of table."

"We'll make it work." Agron turns his head, brushes a kiss over Nasir's hair. "Where do you wanna sit?"

"Next to you." Nasir answers immediately, like it's not a question at all. "We'll just squeeze in. You're not afraid to get a little close, right?"

"Mm, I don't know. Who are you again?" Agron teases, turns more so he can raise an eyebrow. "What's your name?" 

"Rude." Nasir mutters, sets his teeth against the sleeve of Agron's shirt, not really biting until he does, teeth tightening down. There is still fabric between his mouth and skin, but he does it hard enough that it will probably bruise. 

"Like I've thought of anything but you since we met." Agron mutters to himself, flinches and tilts his head back as Nasir's tugs a little on the skin, worrying it. It's not the time to get turned on by this, but _fuck_.

"Mm, I think about you too." Nasir grins, knows exactly what he's doing as he nuzzles closer, wraps an arm around Agron's waist. 

"Oh, do you?" Agron smirks, lowers his head so he can kiss Nasir's forehead, pull him in tight. 

"All the time." Nasir offers it up easily, giggles when Agron's hands inevitably end up on his waist, lightly tickling. "You're the best roommate I've ever had."

"Roommate? _Roommate_ " Agron cries, tries to pull back but Nasir's arms around him keep him from fleeing. "Honey, I hate to break it to you, but we do stuff that most roommates don't."

"Like what?" Nasir asks, pouts up at Agron with those innocent eyes, batting his lashes. "Like combine laundry? Or make dinner? Or that joint bank account?"

"Yes. Definitely the bank account." Agron rolls his eyes, can't help the fondness rolling off of him in waves. "What ever would we do without the bank account?"

"Just be bros, I guess." Nasir shrugs, leans back as much as can in Agron's grip. "What do you think, _bra_? Gonna just hang out, dude? Watch some football? Drink some beers?"

"You know it's horrifying to me when you speak het right?" Agron wrinkles his nose. "Terrifying."

"I'm just trying to feel ya out, man." Nasir punches a hand lightly into Agron's shoulder. "Just wanna be homies, bro, hang out. Cruise chicks. Crush cans on each other's foreheads."

"Stop. Stop." Agron wraps a hand around Nasir's mouth, laughing. "I literally have never been so traumatized in my life."

"Is it because we haven't done bro things together today?" Nasir leans out from Agron's hold, grinning up at him. 

"Like cruise for chicks? Really?" Agron raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I think they might be turned off by our matching tattoos."

"Matching tattoos can be something very bro-mantic and totally hetero. Nothing like declaring your eternal love for someone by injecting permanent ink into yourself. Ask those boys from One Direction." Nasir's mouth is promptly covered again, Agron guffawing loudly. 

"We're not having this discussion again."

"Come on, man. It's just one of our bro things. We've done so many today. We went grocery shopping, paid the mortgage, now talking about a ten year closeted marriage." Nasir mutters against Agron's fingers, his own hands dancing up and down Agron's back. "Just guys being dudes. Dudes being guys. Because guys and dudes are cool, ya know?"

"Oh, I don't know. I don't think what we did this morning would qualify." Agron's fingers move to cup Nasir's face, grinning down at him. "Definitely not."

"What do you mean? All we did was strengthen our bromance with a little sport, a little tonsil hocky." Nasir beams up at Agron, too deep into teasing to back down. "What's wrong with that?"

"Oh, is that what we're calling it? Some good ol' fashion sports. Tonsil hocky and sword fighting?" Agron asks, grins wide, can't help the giggle that bubbles out of him as Nasir nods along, seriously. 

"And horse back riding."

It garners an instant reaction. Agron's laughter fills the kitchen, head tossed back in glee as Nasir leans into him, giggles hard enough that he snorts. It only spurs Agron to laugh harder, who clings to Nasir, pulls him into a tight hug. It's such a reprieve from the stress of their normal day to day, remembering once again that they're still young, still allowed to be silly and fun with one another. 

"You really are the best roommate I've ever had." Agron manages to pull himself together, wipes at his eyes. 

"Thanks for finally adding me to the lease." Nasir has to sniffle, his cheeks red and hot from laughing. He's about to add something else when there is a scuffle and a crash on the back porch, Duro suddenly looming in the outline of the screen door. He's half slumped over, a hand to his forehead. 

"For fuck's sake. You live together!" He complains, scrunching his face. He's clearly drunk, face red as he taps his beer bottle on the glass. "Nasir, get out here. Saxa is kicking my ass and I refuse to have fucking Lugo as my partner anymore." 

"Hey!" A voice calls from deeper in the yard. "Fuck you!"

"What? You're terrible at beer pong! You always over shoot." Duro hollers back, slams his arm up on the backdoor to lean on, turning back to whine. " _Naaasir_. Come on. I need you. Agron literally gets you all the time. I _need_ you." 

"Go." Agron affectionately bumps his nose against Nasir's, pushing him towards the backdoor. "And please keep my idiot brother away from the firepit."

"It was one time!" Duro continues to whine, voice going high on the end. "Come on!"

"One time too many." Nasir reprimands, gets one last kiss from Agron before slinking out the screen door. "Who the fuck thinks that jumping over a firepit is a good idea?"

"He dared me!" 

Duro's voice carries into the kitchen as they make their way across the porch. Agron watches them, feels warm at the easy way Duro bumps into Nasir, with a hand on his arm. It's familiar, like old friends or family really, knows what touch the other will respond to. Duro and Nasir's friendship was a hard battle to win, but in the end, they formed something unique - a true bond. 

Agron watches them hit the grass, Nasir's grinning face turning back to glance at him through the kitchen window. It's one of his rare smiles, wide and bright, fondness softening around his eyes and mouth. That's why it's such a juxtaposition as it falls, a slow realization as Agron feels someone come stand beside him. 

"Hey. Do you need any help?" Donar asks, leans into Agron's side.

All Agron can focus on is the way Duro notices Nasir freezing, how he sees the silhouettes of the two men in the kitchen, suddenly shifting and wrapping his arm around Nasir's shoulders instead. He leads him forward, basically dragging Nasir, head tilted down, whispering. Whatever he says, it makes Nasir nod, turn into him and put his back to the house. 

“Ags?” Donar asks, brushing their elbows together. “You good?”

“Huh? Yeah. Yeah. Fine. I’m good.” Agron coughs a little, looks down to the bowl of green beans in front of him. “Why aren’t you outside?”

“Oh. I uh, I came in to go to the bathroom and you were in here by yourself so I thought I’d see if you need help.” Donar shrugs a little, keeps looking at Agron’s profile. 

“I’m-“ Agron watches Nasir be passed from Duro to Gannicus, gets hugged tight and then they’re whispering too, Nasir making a point of not looking at the house. Gannicus does though, scowls up at the back porch like it’s personally offended him. He makes it obvious when he tucks Nasir into his side, brushes a kiss over his hair. Agron is tapping his knuckles on the window before he even realizes it. 

“What’s wrong?” Donar asks, turns to peer out in the backyard, confused. 

It’s obvious though as Nasir’s head tilts up immediately, watches Agron watch him as Gannicus very slowly puts some space between them, but not before flipping the window the bird. It’s not like Agron thinks that there is anything going on between the two of them – but it’s the implication. That Gannicus is giving him personal affection when Agron is clearly the one that upset him. That Nasir has to seek comfort at all. 

As a last second rebellion though, Gannicus ducks his head, whispers something to Nasir and kisses his cheek sweetly. It gets a giggle out of Nasir, whose dark eyelashes fan across his cheeks Duro takes him back, says something that gets Gannicus laughing loudly, Nasir sandwiched between them. 

“Donar, we gotta talk.” Agron says it slowly, like he’s not sure where to start this conversation. He begins by putting a little space between them, keeps his face forward. 

“Okay, about what?” Donar hesitates, turns his whole body to watch Agron now, leaning his hip on the edge of the sink. He does it like he's familiar, like he belongs here.

“You know.” Agron can’t think of a less blunt way to say it, lets his fingertips settle on the edge of the bowl. 

The silence stretches in all directions. Outside, there is laughter and music and Duro and Gannicus have been trying hard to get Nasir’s scowl to crack. They’re almost there, doing a drunken rendition of Ke$ha, along with hand movements. But inside, Agron can feel the tension swell, can feel it creep down the stairs, choking out the calm and joy that filled the room just moments ago. 

“I don’t-“ Donar starts, then stops, then tries to start again. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Donar.” Agron sighs again, can’t escape it. Nasir is right. This isn’t like Castus. This isn’t like anything else. And Agron can’t stand the look Nasir gives him every time. 

“I’ve tried to not.” Donar finally confesses, awkward and stilted. “But, it’s not...it's not something I can control. I just, I want, it's not fair. How am I supposed to not?”

“I’ve never done anything to lead you on or give you an implication that it was going to be a thing.” Agron tries not to get mad, tries to keep his cool. To show kindness. “I’m sorry that you feel like that, but come on, Donar. I never gave you a reason to think it was two sided. Even before Nasir. ”

Donar flinches at the name, drops his head for just a moment. “I loved you first.” 

Licking over his lip, Agron glances up at the ceiling. He’s trying not to be violent with his approach, tries to keep calm, but it burns him up that this whole thing is his fault. He should have said something sooner, should have put a stop to all of it before it got messy. But at the time, Agron kinda hoped it would just go away. 

“Donar-“ Agron tries to begin again, gets cut off by his quiet question, barely above a breath. 

“Are you going to marry him?”

Agron feels the weight in the question, should really consider it, but staring at Nasir in the twilight, it’s obvious. How many memories are rooted in this house? Nasir in the morning, sunlight streaming through the window. Holding hands on the couch, draped over one another in the comfort of each other, watching dumb movies and crime documentaries. The first night they moved in, alone for the first time forever, standing barefoot in the dining, just soaking it all in. The laughter and the teasing and the crying over petty fights and the make up heat of it all. It’s Nasir. It’s always been Nasir. 

“Yes.”

It’s a simple answer to a simple question. There is no way in hell that Agron is ever going to let Nasir go. They’re meant to be together. There is no doubt in Agron’s mind. It’s this or nothing. Agron would do it now, right in this moment, take Nasir’s hand and run away. It’s a bubbling need in his chest, to be close to be with him, to feel Nasir’s hand in his, to smell his hair, to know that they’re two parts of a whole.

“Fuck.” Donar drops his head, backs away from the kitchen counter. 

And Agron’s an asshole because he doesn’t follow him. He can’t because Nasir sees the movement in the window and he’s suddenly staring at Agron, all wide eyed and concerned. Agron tries to shake his head, tries to give him an indication that it’s fine. But it’s choking, an overwhelming feeling, until Nasir does exactly what he needs. Stepping half a breath away from Duro’s side, Nasir’s hand slips over his side, settles his palm over his hip, right over where Agron’s name is permanently etched into his skin. 

Raising his hand, Agron slips his own palm over his chest, lets it rest against his tattoo as he dips his head in a small nod. It's accompanied by the slamming of the front door, the picture frames in the hall rattling from the force. Agron knows he'll feel guilty about this later, will go over all the ways this conversation could have been different, but there is nothing he can do about it now. Donar was holding onto a false hope, one which he knew for a long time. He had to have known it would end like this. 

Agron moves on autopilot, steps away from the sink and slips out the backdoor. The cool air feels good on his burning face, enveloping him in the half dark as he makes his way to the grass. Duro sees him coming, nudges into Nasir with his elbow before stumbling away, drunkenly giving Agron a charmed, if not crooked smile. 

"Hey." Nasir tucks into his side like no one else, wraps his arm around Agron’s waist, head against his chest and everything feels right. It feels good, like it always does, like two pieces finally finding home. 

"Hey baby." Agron rests his hand on the back of Nasir's neck, keeps him grounded as his thumb brushes over his neck. 

“You alright?” Nasir whispers, tilts his cheek up to look at Agron. Even in the low light, he can detect the crease between Agron’s mouth, the flickering in his thin smile. 

“Yeah, fine.” Agron feels warm, fondness seeping in from everywhere as he kisses Nasir between his eyebrows. “Just wanted to be near you. Was missin’ all the fun.”

“Where is-“ Nasir bounces his eyes off the back porch and then back, says it slow so the words are half lost in the dark. Agron kisses him again, makes a soft noise at the way Nasir’s expression is changing. 

“He left.”

“Why did he- Are you okay-“ Nasir tries to pull away, tries to turn so he can see Agron better, but Agron just tightens his arm, stopping the movement. 

“It’s fine. I’ll explain it later. Let’s just-“ He glances around the yard, at his friends laughing and drinking, careless and relaxed. “Let’s just be here. Yeah?”

Nasir doesn’t say anything, doesn’t really get the chance to as Duro seems to think it’s an appropriate time to start tell Agron a story, bumping into them and nearly shouting. It has a lot of slurred German in it, including wide hand gestures that seems to also need Lugo for details and back up noises. It gets Saxa going too, who is on the other side of the yard sprawled out in a lawn chair with Chadara on her lap. Nasir can barely follow any of it, but he lets the sound wash over him, lets Agron hold him tighter.

He supposes, in the grand scheme of things, it’s very telling that Agron is here with him and not trailing after his friend. But anything that hurts Agron will hurt Nasir, Nasir who holds it all in and tries to keep it safe. So he wonders if what happened in the kitchen, even cradled in Agron’s arms this way, and he worries that whatever did will have lasting repercussions. 

\- - - 

It's a simple plan as far as plans go. It's all about pacing, about the pieces falling into place, everyone following through on their role. Spartacus had poured over it, worked out every scenario until he had arrived at this. Something simple and yet, precise. 

It starts with an alibi. Agron's team is to all meet at the local movie theater for a marathon showing of all three Back to the Future films. It's a solid six hours that is so boring, it's almost laughable. But it puts them in a place and a time, caught on multiple CCTVs. They'll make a big production of walking through the lobby, recognizable cars parked in the lot incase anyone checks. Then, when they get to the theater room itself, they'll be ushered out the back to the waiting van to switch clothes and go to the Roman side. Everything is laid out, accounted for, even the buckets of popcorn left in the seats. 

The ride from the Southend to the Northside is relatively quiet, all too keyed up to make small talk. Agron drives, because he won't let anyone else, and makes the rest of the group sit on the floor in the back, Nasir taking the only available seat as the navigator. It's a dangerous way to do it. Agron is recognizable, but they stick to mostly residential streets, going the back way, and no one stops them. 

The cul-de-sac is lined on either sides by a fairly thick forest, evergreen trees looming high on either side of the road. They park against them, their branches helping to shield anyone from really taking notice of it. The houses out here are big enough you can barely see the neighbor's windows lit up in the dark, shining like dull after thoughts in the distance. It's how these people live, so caught up in their own homes, their own bullshit, to even notice the slow roll of danger coming into their neighborhood. 

They've been out here for nearly thirty minutes, huddled together on the cold metal floor. Nasir has a laptop open in front of him, typing quickly in the dull glow the screen, lip caught between his teeth. Against his side, Agron holds a small flashlight up, illuminating the keys. He had tried to watch what Nasir was doing, tried to follow the steps, but it's too fast, the green code scrolling over and over itself. 

"So, all I'm saying is, they're clearly marketing to a queer audience." Duro sighs, rolls his head back against the wall of the van. "You gonna tell me some fourteen-year-old who just discovered what to do with his dick isn't going to find that hot?"

"I dunno. I don't really think about fourteen-year olds. Or their dicks." Gannicus rolls his eyes, fiddling with the cap of his water bottle. "Do you think about fourteen-year olds?"

"No!" Duro shouts, instantly dropping his voice when Agron looks up at him, glaring in the dim light. "No. I just meant, I mean come on, who was your first celebrity crush? Really? You can't tell me it wasn't marketed towards you."

"Uh, I dunno. Pamela Anderson?" Gannicus shrugs a little. "Wasn't that everyone's?"

"No." Agron, Nasir, Saxa, and Lugo answer in unison. They don’t even have to look up to say it. 

"I meant like _gay_ celebrity crush." Duro rolls his eyes, fiddles with his curls. He’s lucky he’s sober tonight, though with the way Gannicus keeps playing with his bottle, it won’t stay that way. There is an acidic twinge of vodka in the air that seems to permeate between them.

“Definitely Cher from Clueless.” Saxa replies. She’s got her legs spread out in front of her, stretching her arms down to grab her ankles. “In those mini skirts. _The Calvin Klein dress._ ” 

“Okay definitely yes.” Gannicus grins at her, nudges her arm with his elbow. “The late 80s early 90s.” He puckers his hands at his mouth and kisses it, drawing it away in chef’s kiss. “And like Nightmare on Elm Street Johnny Depp.”

“With the crop tops.” Duro groans, nodding his head. “Definitely wanted to be that waterbed. Holy fuck.”

“Oh. Well.” Lugo looks perplexed, tabs his beard, trying to contribute. “Maybe, Jason Momoa is nice.”

“Baywatch Jason Momoa!” Gannicus whisper yells, pumping his fist. 

"Anytime Jason Momoa." Nasir mutters, doesn't even bother stopping his typing. Agron can only nod with him, smirking a little.

"Not everything has to be gay, you know." Nemetes, who up until this point had been glued to texting on his phone, glances up with a petulant scowl. "There are more straight people in the world than gay. It's okay to be straight."

It only earns him six sets of eyes suddenly snapping to him, even Nasir's fingers stilling on the keys. It's one beat too long while all of them just watch him, before Duro lets out a derisive snort, and they collapse into mocking laughter. 

"You're a fucking idiot." Agron rolls his eyes, burying his grin into Nasir's shoulder. 

"Don't act like I haven't caught you sucking dick in the bathroom at the Nickle." Saxa brushes a curl off her face. "Quiet loudly, might I add."

"That wasn't _gay_." Nemetes defends, looking mildly insulted. "That was just..."

"It's not gay to suck dick?" Lugo looks genuinely confused, glancing between Gannicus, Agron, and then Nasir. As if they will suddenly open up and explain all the intricacies of gay sex to him. Duro is laughing too hard to even look at him. 

"Apparently not when it's Donar." Saxa raises her eyebrows at Nasir, accepting his fist bump over the top of the laptop. "Did you both picture Agron or-"

"Saxa." Agron's warning is sharp, even with the audible click of his teeth gnashing together. 

"Not everything is about Agron." Nemetes makes a slow movement with his leg, the tip of his boot nudging into Duro's leg. It's hard to see it in the dark, the way Duro instantly pulls back, wedges himself more into Gannicus side, hard enough that the blond has to wrap his arm around Duro's shoulders. 

"Where is Donar?" Duro asks, looks around the van like the man will suddenly appear out of the darkness. "Why isn't he here?"

"Something came up." Agron's tone doesn't leave it up for questions, turning his attention back to Nasir, watching his hands. 

"O _kay_." Duro drawls out, leans his head back against Gannicus' shoulder, staring at his profile. "Who do you think Agron's first celebrity crush was?"

"Agron's?" Gannicus finally takes the cap off his water bottle, pours a hefty amount onto his tongue. The van suddenly smells faintly of Smirnoff. "Probably Yanni."

"Yanni!" Duro can't stop his holler this time, laughing so loud the entire van shakes. Gannicus has to hold him upright, nearly drops his bottle as Duro's full weight collides into him. It's the well aimed punch in Duro's arm that has him sobering, looking around wildly just to be met with Agron's snarl. 

"Will you shut up before we get caught?"

He's have leaned over Nasir, who has crouched further down, molds into Agron's waist like he was expecting it. The green glow from his screen is eerie, both of them looking creepily similar to that video of the barn owls getting pissed off. It's a sudden reminder that the two of them, combined, are some of the deadliest people in their gang. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" Duro is wiping at tears, trying to pull Gannicus in front of him a little to shield him. "I'm sorry but Yanni? _Yanni!_ "

"My first celebrity crush wasn't fucking Yanni. Now shut up." Agron swats at him, smacks Duro's head hard enough it nudges into Gannicus'. 

"Aw so mean." Gannicus admonishes the treatment, reaches up to twist a hand into Duro's curls. He's been so fucking touch starved since his falling out with Oenomaus that he'll take it from anyone, loves how easy it is with Duro. It's like they're both bruised but it's okay because their bruises don't line up, so it aches but not as much as it could. 

"Okay, so who was it? Your first crush?" Lugo asks, genuine in his sincerity. 

"My first crush? Like ever?" Agron rolls his eyes, slumps back against Nasir again, still pressed tight. "I dunno. Maybe-"

"It's no use. You know what they're going to say." Saxa pops her gum loudly, voice dropping an octave. "My first crush was Nasir. My only crush was Nasir. I've never looked at another human being in my life. Sexual attraction to anyone else? It's all about Nasir, Nasir, Na _zir_."

"Shut up." Agron doesn't look quiet as bothered as he should, rolls his eyes. 

"It's almost sad we already know it." Duro sighs, shaking his head. 

"Sad? How is it sad? I've been in a committed relationship for six years. While the rest of you act like it's a competition to who can get their dick wet the fastest." Agron snarks, raising a superior eyebrow. "And yes Saxa, your metaphorical dick."

"I will take it." Saxa shrugs a little.

"But it's not like you guys have never fucked anyone else-" Nemetes starts, then widens his eyes when both Nasir and Agron look over him, matching murderous expressions morphing over their face. "Holy shit! Really?"

"Stop. I don't want to know." Duro moans pitifully, rubs his hands over his face. He only has to suffer a moment before Gannicus hands him over the bottle. 

"Wait, really?" Nemetes can't seem to stop, genuinely shocked. "Not even-"

"What's so surprising about it?" Agron snaps, the flashlight suddenly dropping into his lap. He looks ready to fight, hand not against Nasir's waist curling into a fist. 

"Okay. _Okay_." Nasir is quick to reach over Agron, clicks the flashlight off and practically sprawling over him. "Agron's first celebrity crush was definitely Avan Jogia, like Victorious Avan Jogia. Mine was probably Channing Tatum because I'm basic. Now, I've disabled this fuck's security system so can we please go rob some Romans? _Ja?_ "

" _Ja_." Saxa and Duro echo each other, lightly mocking the German in Nasir's mouth, before reaching for the back of the van, throwing open the back door. 

They creep around the trees, keep in the dark. All of them are dressed all in black, hoods up and hair tucked in, their clothes bleeding into the shadows. There are a row of cars parked in front of the house, Lexus and Maserati, their tinted windows looking gaunt and empty in the late night. There are at least six people inside, if the lit up windows are anything to go by. So oblivious to the threat currently creeping up the back lawn. 

It isn't until they reach the side gate, the one hidden behind the pool house (mostly used for cleaners and service people) that they realize their issue. The security cameras may be dark, unmoving and hollow at the caps of the fence, but the gate is firmly locked from the inside. 

"Shit." Agron hisses, crouched down on the crash next to the large stone fence. " _Shit._ "

"I can do it." Nasir is pressed into his side, already scanning the door. "It's fine. I have lock picks."

"You can't reach through the gate." Saxa's gaze slides over the intricate metal swirls of the doorway. 

"Just boost me over." Reaching around his neck, Nasir tugs on the strip of cloth, adjusting the face mask over the bridge of his nose and mouth. It's printed with the lower half of a skull, the white etching over its teeth looking eerie in the dark. 

He stares up at Agron with those dark eyes and Agron's breath catches a little, already knows they're going to have to do it. He has his own face mask pulled up, each of them looking like a horror movie with matching skeleton grins. It doesn't stop Agron from suddenly surging forward, hand on the back of Nasir's neck. The cloth gets in the way, smelling faintly of chemicals, but it's second nature for their lips to find each other's in the dark. A rough, chaste press that has Nasir tilting his head back, leaning into it. 

"Be careful." Agron mutters, nudges his forehead against Nasir's. "If you can't get the door open, you're going to be stuck."

"You'll come get me." Nasir's eyes crinkle in the corners, definitely giving Agron that smile, the one just for him. It’s not even a question.

They separate with another chaste kiss, quick to stand up and focus. There will be time for all of this later, when they’re home safe, away from the looming mansion filled with Romans. Gannicus comes over, links his hands with Agron's after a short nod of approval. The fence is nearly seven feet high, so it will be a scramble, but Nasir is nothing if not scrappy. Bracing his hands on each of their shoulders, Nasir nestles his sneaker into the cradle of their palms, bounces a little on his other foot. 

"Ready?" Gannicus prompts, meets Agron's gaze.

“Carefully.” Agron stresses the word, turns his head for just a brief moment to press his mouth to Nasir’s wrist, before pulling back and nodding. 

They do it together, though Agron has lifted Nasir enough times on his own he already is ready for the weight. It's one moment of joint effort, lifting as one, and suddenly Nasir is up on the top of the fence straddling the brick facade. He is still grinning, sends a wink down at Agron and a quick blown kiss, before he disappears over the other side in a quick swing of his leg. It feels like it's too easy, too perfect, Nasir doesn't even hesitate, and Agron has to reach down to his sweatpants, adjusting himself. 

"Your competency kink is showing." Gannicus mutters, nudges his arm into Agron's. 

"Shut up." Agron mutters, feels his cock already twitching again. It's like it's directly linked to everything Nasir does. He's just _so fucking good_ and Agron gets turned on by the mere thought that Nasir is being _good_ for him.

"He really is the hottest thing, isn't he?" Gannicus smirks, hidden behind his mask. 

"He really is." Agron, in a rare moment of supplication, groans and rolls his eyes back. "Every fucking day. I feel like I've been hard up for him for the past six years."

"Aw man." Gannicus muffles his laughter in Agron’s shoulder, wraps his arm around his waist. "You were hard up the second Spartacus brought him to the house."

“It’s obvious isn’t it?” Agron cringes just a little, not too keen at being so known, but Gannicus just gives a snort. 

“So fucking obvious.” 

They're interrupted by the soft click of the lock, the gate suddenly swinging out. Nasir stands there with a slight tilt to his head, hip cocked, a curl having escaped from his beanie to rest against his cheek. Behind him, a large, blue lit pool stretches over the back manicured lawn. There are hanging baskets of flowers, still in full bloom so the whole yard looks like a perfectly styled dream, Nasir shining in the center of it, slipping his lock picks back into his pocket. Agron only lets himself get distracted for a moment, a lingering breath of wanting nothing more than to press his skins against Nasir's, before he snaps back into it. 

Slipping back into his role, Agron's fingers dance along the handle of his baseball bat, stepping onto the grass and purposefully brushing his free hand over Nasir's wrist. They're both wearing gloves, the leather stretched taught enough the touch feels like a brand. This is it. This is all for him. Agron would kill anyone, _do anything_ , for Nasir. 

It's easy for them to fall into formation, practiced and careful. This isn't a random Rebel group. This is Agron's family, his carefully curated crew. It's impeccable. Agron is in the front, Gannicus and Duro on either side. Tucked behind, Nasir makes the center of the triangle, not hiding behind Agron but more covering his back, Saxa and Lugo on either side of him. Nemetes stays in the far rear, keeps his eyes shifting. They creep along the grass to the large sliding doors, the polished glass reflecting their images back to them. It only catches Agron off guard for a moment, how horrifying they actually look, before he tightens his grip again. Inside the house, someone is laughing, there is music playing. No one fucking is expecting anything. 

Raising the bat to his shoulder, Agron adjusts his hands one more time over the handle, tenses up, feels Nasir's fingertips on his lower back, and then Agron swings with all his strength, smashing the wood directly in the center of the glass. 

The shards haven't even reached the tile floor when the group rushes in, silent but charged. Guns would be too loud, draw too much attention too quickly, so each of them have something else - a weapon of their own choosing. They separate the moment they hit the doorway, going quickly to the heart of the house. Gannicus and Duro branch off to the living room, the sound of shouting and cursing roaring as they descend on the few men sprawled across the couch. They had been in the middle of playing some video game, the screen caught in the middle of a shoot off as Duro brings his bat down on the back of a guy's head, the blood splattering up the wall in a spray of red. 

Saxa and Lugo run for the stairs, their boots pounding on the hardwood. There is a terrified scream of a someone caught on the railing, his legs flailing as he goes over the side with a sickening crack. Someone further up is shouting too, calling for someone, and Lugo answers in a mocking German wail before his pipe crashes into the wall next to the man's skull. Saxa's laughter is wild, high pitched and sharp as she keeps going, not even bothered as she takes a fist to the face. 

Nemetes goes towards the front of the house, shouting something in retaliation for the man who had been in the hallway, caught between rooms, his beer bottle shattered on the floor. He's getting too close to the front door, and Nemetes knows it, uses the decorative vase on the side table as he chucks it, hitting the man in the back, forcing him to his knees.

It's utter chaos, people shouting and trying to run. Their original projected headcount of six is off, nearly a dozen Roman fucks are crammed into the mansion. The whole place smells like weed, like cheap fucking beer, like sweat. They're too caught off guard, too shocked, to even put a real fight. The Rebels had the upper hand the moment they rolled into the neighborhood, the second they made it over the fence. 

Upstairs, Saxa throws open the door of a bedroom and finds it - half a dozen women crouched around a bed. They're mostly naked, the curtains drawn so only the white glow of the tv lights their gaunt and terrified faces. Each of them startle when she comes in, recoiling when Lugo appears behind her with wild eyes and a bloody steel pipe in his fist. It's clear what they're here for, what they have been _enslaved_ for and Saxa's stomach rolls with it. With a finger to her lips, she backs out of the room, closes the door softly. When they've delt with the others, the fucking Romans, she'll come back for the women. 

Agron and Nasir go to the kitchen, inching their way along the big dining room to get to the white swinging door. Agron doesn't care about the rest of the guys here, nearly a dozen from the sound of the voices. Agron only has his eyes on one prize, and he finds it leaning against the island, two other men beside him. His blond head wrenches to the side, eyes wide, just as Agron slams the door into the opposite wall. 

The two men, one of them the bruisers from the shop, charge first. Nasir is quick though, drops to a crouch and uses his height to his advantage as he grips the man's thighs, flipping him over his shoulder. He crashes into the marble tile, his face taking the brunt of the force, teeth skittered over the floor. Nasir is quick to swing his legs over him, grips the hem of his shirt and presses his face into the flooring. The second one goes down with a quick swing of Agron's bat, the wood shattering into the hanging light before the man's face, the glass spreading over the carefully sculpted cabinetry. 

The blond, fucking Varinius, tries to back peddle with a shout, tries to get to the other side of the kitchen, but Agron is hot with rage and doesn't even wait for the other guy to hit the ground before he's rushing over him, grabbing Varinius by the back of his shirt. He drops his bat, uses both of his hands to wrench him around, Agron snarling in his face as he body slams him into the fridge, the whole thing shaking. 

It's all Agron can see, the way Varinius had slammed Nasir back into the side of the car, how he had picked him up. Nasir's sneakers skittering on the ground, his hands up around Varinius' wrist. And Agron will never get the image of Nasir's face, his mouth dropped in horror, as the knife had slid home. 

There is no way Varinius can escape, the eagle on his neck bulging as he gasps in terror, too caught off guard to fight back. It only seems to fuel Agron on as with a powerful yank, he grips the back of Varinius' hair, twists his whole arm as he slams the man's face down onto the counter. It bounces with a sickening crack, blood from his mouth spilling over the marble in a pool of red. Agron does it again with a shout, his shoulder bulging from the force. There is another crunch, the cartilage of his nose snapping as Agron does it a third time. 

Nasir is suddenly against Agron's side, blood on his gloves, over his wrist. He doesn't touch Agron, just lingers there, his fingers twitching on the switchblade in his palm. Agron recognizes the red handle, the curl of a quote inter laid in the smooth stone. It was a present, an anniversary present, from Agron to Nasir on their fifth. The German translates roughly to "one life, two hearts". 

It's not a balm or a command but Agron is quick to flip Varinius over, lets him slump to the ground between them. He isn't even trying to fight back, just puddles to the ground, his face a thing of horror as blood pours from his mouth, his nose. Above him, Agron turns his gaze up to Nasir, watches him closely. There is a fire there, a rage that Agron reflects back to him. As much as Agron would love to reach down and snap Varinius' neck, to put him down, this isn't Agron's revenge. This is about Nasir. About the scar along Nasir's side that he traces in the bathroom mirror each morning. 

With a subtle nod, Agron crouches down, smacks Varinus' cheek lightly so he opens his eyes, blearily staring up at the two of them. He swings Varinius around, props him up against his chest, forces all his attention on Nasir, who drops to his knees before him. Dragging the tip of the knife up Varinius' thigh, Nasir watches the metal dance over the tan skin, up over the bunched khaki of his shorts, before his voice sounds in the now silent kitchen. 

"Pretty. Pretty. Pretty." Nasir murmurs, keeps his knife moving higher and higher, rests it in the center of Varinius' chest.

"Wh-What?" Varinius tries to focus, his hand raising only Agron to slam his wrist back down. He groans, twisting, but can't wrench out of the hold. 

"What the matter, sweetheart?" Reaching up, Nasir uses his clean hand to slowly pull down his mask, watches Varinius' slow realization. 

"You! You-" Varinius coughs, chokes on the blood in his mouth. "Fuck."

"You told me to warn my king. You didn't think he would let his toys come play?" Nasir smirks wide, leans forward to lap his tongue over the clean corner of Varinius' cheek in a mockery of the way Varinus had kissed him before. He's close enough his nose brushes Agron's chin on the way back, both of them too intune to one another to not move in tandem. "Is this not what you had in mind?"

"Caesar will fucking kill you. You fucking cun-" Varinius starts, caught off as Agron's hand wraps around his throat, fingers tightening down. 

"I don't think he will." Nasir murmurs, his hand changing on the hilt of the knife, slipping down to grip it tight. 

It's a breath, a slow inhale, as Nasir digs the tip of the knife through the fabric of Varinius' shirt, hits skin, and then he pauses. He knows how easy it would be to push it in, to reenact the same violence on someone else that was given to him, but he suddenly can't. He tries and his arm won't move, his wrist numb as Varinius gasps for breath below him. Snapping his gaze up, Nasir meets Agron's over Varinius' shoulder, stares up at his boyfriend with wide, desperate eyes. 

A slow realization comes over Agron, like a revelation splayed out before him, all the doors suddenly thrown open. Nasir's gaze is unwavering but his bottom lip is trembling, and Agron _knows_ that look. Has seen Nasir face every single fucking day for six years. Because even after everything, all the brawls and crimes and violence, there is still a trace of innocence in Nasir. This is the Nasir who smashed a beer stein into a man's face because he called Agron a faggot, laughed all the way out of the bar when Lugo and Donar and Auctus had to carry him, but this is also the Nasir who tears up at ASPCA commercials, who carries his heart right on the edge of his sleeve, who has empathy for everyone. He's vicious and capable and so venomous that sometimes even Agron recoils but under it, Nasir is soft and compassionate and cares so much. This is the Nasir who has cut a man's face but has never murdered someone. This is the Nasir who Agron would do anything and everything to protect. 

Letting his hand slip off Varinius' throat, Agron wraps his palm around Nasir's hand instead. He won’t' take this revenge from him, won't rob him of his own autonomy, but he will help. He will give Nasir all the support, all the praise, all the strength he can. He waits until Nasir draws in a shuddering breath, slow and careful, before Agron suddenly yanks their hands forward, slides the knife into the center of Varinius' chest with a quick jolt. 

Below them, Varinius gives a cry, a shout in agony, and Agron doesn't let him wrench away. He keeps his grip tight on Nasir's wrist, watches him flinch as Agron shoves their hands back and then forward again, slams the knife into Varinius' chest for a second time. It's only fair, an eye for an eye, and Nasir's mouth drops in a brittle gasp as Agron twists their wrist in a sharp turn. 

"Fuck!" The word seems to tumble from his mouth, Nasir not pulling away as much as his body seems to react for him, yanking the knife out with a sickening squelch. 

Varinius drops to the ground between them, Agron quick to get to his feet as Nasir recoils, skitters on unsure feet over the marble tile. He won't let Nasir escape it though, reaches quickly out and wraps an arm around Nasir, pulls him close and hides Nasir's face into his chest. Here, he can shelter him from the reality of the carnage around them, the slow elation of it all being over. 

"Hey, hey, baby, you're okay." Agron soothes, is careful not to touch Nasir with his blood covered hands, instead uses his forearms to hold him tight. "It's over."

"Fuck. _Agron_." Nasir gasps, overwhelmed and shocked and thrumming with the horror and the elation of it all. “We just – I just – He’s-“

"Shh, you're good, Nasir. Fuck, you are so good. It's okay." Agron kisses the top of Nasir's head, even through the mask, nuzzles against him. "It's a lot but it's okay. I'm right here."

"Am I still-" Nasir pulls back and Agron's stomach jolts at the tears in his eyes. 

"Perfect, baby. You're so perfect." Agron struggles to use his shoulder, tries to get his mask down without touching his face, without unwrapping his arms from around Nasir. He only gets it past his nose before Nasir's cold fingers are against his cheek, tugging the material down for him. 

The kiss is too desperate, too open, and Nasir's nails bite into the back of Agron's neck, even through their gloves. It's quick jerks on clothes and each other and then Agron's tongue is curling against Nasir's teeth, knows this place better than his own mouth it seems, as he tilts them back. Nasir tastes like salt, bitter like the gum he was chewing in the van, and Agron wants to overwhelm him, get him caught up in the press of them together - of the grounding reality of it - before he can succumb to the panic of the bodies around them. Of what they've just done, together, always together.

"Oy. For fuck's sake." The door to the kitchen swings open, Duro and Saxa leaning in together. "Really? Right now?"

"Fuck off." Agron growls, uses his bicep around Nasir's neck to draw him closer, buries Nasir's face in his chest. It hides his panting, staggered breathing, Nasir clinging to him with a desperate whimper. He’s one quick inhale away from a panic attack.

"We can't." Saxa stresses, glances around the kitchen before settling on her cousin. "There is a room of girls upstairs that need a pick up and do you remember that Spartacus gave us free range? Oh, and also, the dozen of fucking Romans in the house?"

"Shit. Fuck. God damn it." Agron hisses, can feel Nasir trembling in his arms. Spartacus had given them specific instructions to make it look like a robbery gone wrong - meaning that the jewelry and the cash and the drugs had better be taken. 

"It's-" Nasir pulls back, his face blotchy and red with tears but he stares up at Agron with careful eyes. "It's fine. I just need- I need out of the - Can I-"

"Easy." Agron murmurs, ignores the others in the room to lower his face, kisses Nasir's forehead. "Go out by the pool, yeah? I'll be right out."

"Are you sure?" Nasir isn't trembling as much as Agron kisses his eyelids. 

"Yeah, baby, fuck. You did such a good job. Just go wait for me, yeah? I'll be quick." Agron nudges Nasir a little. 

"Okay." Nasir nods, seems to be coming back to himself a little. "Find me something pretty, yeah?"

"Gonna find you a mirror." Agron replies, smiles that charming grin at him. It's enough of a flirty statement that Nasir can't help but grin back. 

It's not like they get to keep the jewelry or anything, though Agron has snuck a few pieces into Nasir's jewelry box before. Mostly, when they rob a Roman like this though, Nasir will get to keep it for at least the night, takes all his clothes off and then put it all on. All the necklaces and bracelets and rings they'll eventually end of pawning or selling off. He likes to hear each them clink together, chains and pearls and precious jewels glinting on his skin as Agron takes him from behind, lets all of them spill over Nasir's body. 

Nasir makes it out of the house on wobbly legs, collapses down on the lounge chair around the pool. It's close enough that he can lean over, rinse his knife off in the chlorine water. He had easily knabbed the pack of cigarettes out of Duro's back pocket, not really one to smoke but he'll do anything with his hands at this point. The curl of the nicotine on his tongue is enough to have Nasir grimace, but it's something. Something to ground him. 

He's so deep in his own head, fucking replying the kitchen over and over, that he nearly misses the movement by the side of the pool, Nemetes seeming to appear out of the dark himself. He's smoking too, has a splatter of blood on his face, covered it where he grips the filter between two fingers. He walks around the edge of the pool, gaze slow and assessing over Nasir. 

"It's nice, eh?" Craning a thumb at the blue water, Nemetes cocks his head. 

"What?" Nasir hears the words but they don't seem to make sense. He needs a fucking drink.

"The pool, it's nice. Big, ya know? Has a window in the bottom so you can watch people swim from the basement." Nemetes steps closer until his shin bumps into Nasir's chair, jostling him a little. "Seems like something you would be into."

"Yeah, I guess." Nasir shrugs, blinks too many times in a row. He's not really sure why they're having this conversation. It's not like Nemetes and Nasir are friends, not really, just kinda know each other because they run in the same circles. Thrown together in a bag tied with an Agron bow. 

"You'd look good in it, ya know?" Nemetes takes a slow drag from his smoke, cheeks hallowing. "The light on your skin, the blue, it's a good look."

Nasir whips his head up then, eyes widening in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Shit." Nemetes kinda chuckles, lets the smoke spill out of his mouth in a slow cloud. "I'm just being honest. You'd fit in here. In a big house like this, no one around to see ya strip down. Water is heated too."

"Are you-" Nasir has to stop the words, scoffing loudly. There is no way. No fucking way Nemetes is this dumb. 

"Come on, Nasir." Nemetes crouches down, gets on Nasir's eye level. He smells like blood, like cheap Paul Mall's, like sweat. Nasir tries to recoil but Nemetes' hand wraps around his wrist, pins it down to the plastic seat. "We both know you were basically bred to be here. Bet you've thought about it, being one of those Roman's little pets. Collared and pretty."

"You fuck-" Nasir tries again, heat coiling in his stomach. This is really too much. 

"Ah ah, don't." Nemetes takes another drag, inhales slowly until the cherry on his smoke burns bright. "I think it's hot, ya know? Ain't trying to shame you or anything. I like a boy who knows how to spread his legs. Makes it so much easier."

"Take your fucking hand off of me before I break your fucking wrist." Nasir flashes his teeth, leans into the touch until he's in Nemetes' face. He's burning with the wrath, so furious he's back to shaking. The panic is coiling in his throat, making everything feel too raw, too bright. 

"Ooo baby has teeth, even without his daddy." Nemetes mocks lightly, looking unafraid as his fingers flex on Nasir's wrist. "But we both know you like it. Like it when people watch. Like that we all know you take it like a bitch." 

"You really want to test that?" Nasir asks, his own cigarette forgotten in his grasp under Nemetes' hold, the other flexing around his knife. "How about I cut your balls off and hang them around his rearview mirror?" 

"I wouldn't make threats like that." Nemetes smirk only grows wider, leaning in as the smoke from his nose spills over Nasir's face. "Never know what will push people over the edge."

"Hey!" Agron's shadow is suddenly cutting through the dull glow of the pool, looming long and broad as he comes marching across the grass. He's carrying a duffle bag, scowl etched onto his face. "What's going on?" 

"Nothing. Just a bit of talk." Nemetes recoils slowly, throws his hands up in mock surrender as he steps back, rocking on his heel. "He's a little spitfire after a fight, ja?" 

Silently, Nasir stands up from his chair, keeps his gaze on Nemetes as he walks around the edge of the pool to stand beside Agron. He's so angry he's unable to form the words, just lets Agron's free arm wrap around his shoulders, tug him closer until they're pressed together. Seeming to have sensed the conversation is over, Nemetes just lets out a short laugh, waving his hand. 

"We ready?" Duro is near the gate now, ushering Lugo through it. Just behind, Saxa is leading the group of girls over the grass, talking quietly to them as Gannicus brings up the rear. All of them are weighed down by heavy duffle bags. 

"Go." Agron motions to Nemetes first, then tilts his head down to look at Nasir. He doesn’t look like himself, eyes wide and vacant, bottom lip caught between his teeth tight enough the skin around it has gone pale. Leaning in, Agron presses his lips to Nasir’s temple, focuses on touching him gently with a firm hand. "Let's go, yeah?"

"Hm? Yeah. Yeah." Nasir snaps out of it, lets Agron guide him across the grass and through the back gate again with little protest. There are too many emotions inside of him to really focus on one, caught up in the euphoria of it, the horror of it, the reckoning of their actions and the consequences. He feels like a ship tied out in sea, bumping around and being tethered, but having no real say on how his body is moving. The house looms bright and silent behind them as they make their way down the hill, rushing in the darkness and trying to keep as silent as possible. 

It feels like it all happened so quickly and yet the exhaustion is draining. Parked next to the van is another one, Barca at the wheel with a stony faced Melitta in the passenger seat. The group separates then, Saxa ushering the newly freed girls into the back of the other van, passing them over, before coming back to the original one. They all need to come out of the theater still, complete the alibi. The girls will be taken somewhere safe, cleaned up, given choices and the freedom they deserve. 

Collapsing into the van, Agron tosses the keys at Gannicus’ head and stations himself against the wall. He’s too keyed up to try and drive, lets his body relax slowly against the cold metal as Nasir climbs in next, doesn’t even think about it as he curls up in the fold between Agron’s legs. He makes it a point of nearly climbing into Agron’s skin, pressing his side so firmly into Agron’s chest that his shoulder digs in painfully to Agron’s collarbone. He doesn’t move him though, only tangles his arms around him tightly. It’s here, wrapped in Agron’s arms, that Nasir feels safest. Everything else could go to shit, and it has, but Nasir always comes back here – knows that this is his place. Only he is allowed this. 

“I’m so proud of you baby.” Agron murmurs, buries the words in Nasir’s ear. “So proud.”

“Thank you.” Nasir confesses the words barely above a whisper, turns his head so their noses brush. “For helping me. I just couldn’t-“

“It’s not easy.” Agron can see out of the corner of his eye that Nemetes is staring at them, trying not to make it obvious over the top of his water bottle. “It’s okay though. You did so good.” 

He can’t help but feel, even in the elation of it finally being done, that there is something looming. Agron believes in intuition, believes in the gut feeling currently gnawing in his stomach. There is something, _something off_. Something is coming. He only hopes that he’ll be wise enough to see it before it hits.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie. This chapter is heavy but necessary. I promise we're gonna get more into the plot next chapter, but I gotta set up some stuff. Thanks as always for your love and support <3

Spartacus laces his fingers together, resting his elbows on the polished wood of his desk. There is a short glass of bourbon sat in front of him, lone ice cube melted down into a thin shard as it mixes with the liquid, leaving a ring of perspiration around the crystal edge. The sun is long gone, the night turned dark and silent in the early morning hour. Spartacus' eyes are burning, his glasses left on the edge of his nose, skewing the room half into a blur and half into focus. It’s a shitty metaphor really for the night he’s having. He should be in bed, should be curled around his pregnant wife, but he can't. He won't be able to rest, get any comfort, until he gets the call.

Sometimes, when it’s late like this, Spartacus wonders how it all got this complicated. When he was young, back when the idea for the gang first occurred to him, it all seemed like a practical determination. They were the forgotten youth, dumb and idealistic, and Spartacus had looked around his friends and just wanted to keep it that way. To protect them, to grow a family together, to stay together – no matter what. Maybe it was selfish to try and keep everyone close, to keep his people close, but Spartacus has always done it with the best intentions. 

He wonders what they will be like in five years, ten years, twenty. So much has happened since they formed the Rebels, marriages and babies and losses and strife. They have grown up together, grown closer and drifted apart. It says a lot that Spartacus knows where the Rebel tattoo is on each of his friends – each of his brothers and sisters – had been there for every single one of them. All of them etched with a red serpent – a permanent sign of their love and loyalty for each other. 

Picking up his phone, Spartacus lingers his finger over the contacts. It’s the first one, the first on his speed dial – his right hand, his guard dog, the one who Spartacus thinks he trusts more than anyone else – maybe sometimes more than himself. He knows it’s late, nearly three, but the call should have already come. He should already be put at ease. So, he doesn’t wait longer, just presses the green circle and waits as the phone connects. 

It rings nearly to the voicemail before it finally is answered, voice low and scratchy, a whisper in what must be the dark. Spartacus has to strain to hear it, pressing the plastic harder into the side of his face. 

“Hey. Sorry, I was getting ready to call.” 

“You were supposed to when you got in.” Spartacus answers, keeps his voice down too, even though there is no one near the office. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Hold on.” 

Across the Southend, Agron sets the phone down on the nightstand and turns to his boyfriend. It takes him a minute to slide his arm out from under Nasir’s head, to settle him down against the pillows, to make sure he didn’t wake him up with the movement. Nasir instinctively turns his face into where Agron’s shoulder had just been, nearly rolls onto his stomach to bury in the warmth. He’s wearing one of Agron’s shirts, the fabric soft and faded green, twisted so Nasir’s bare shoulder is exposed, his wet hair leaving a dark spot on the back and the pillow case. 

Agron leaves a kiss just on the cusp on his back, tucks his nose against the skin for only a moment, inhales in and holds it. Nasir breathes in deep but doesn’t wake up, eyelashes twitching on his cheeks, slipping into a dream. It takes a Herculean amount of strength to pull away, Agron tucking the blankets back in place to keep the warmth as he slips off the bed, grabbing up his cell again. 

He pads around in the dark in bare feet, leaves the bedroom door cracked as he makes his way to the stairs. Agron knows this house better than anywhere else, knows where to step on the wood so it doesn’t creak, steps around lightly on the landing so he doesn’t trip over the shoes piled there, half of them not even Nasir’s or Agron’s. He presses the phone back to his ear when he steps through the living room, going towards the kitchen. 

“I meant to call when we got in.” Agron murmurs into the phone, going to the fridge. The white light pours over the speckled linoleum under his feet, over the pale, yellow cabinets. “But we had to shower and then it just…didn’t happen.”

“Did everything go okay?” Spartacus asks, taps his fingers against the side of his glass. He doesn’t know what Agron is doing, can only hear him moving around on the other end, listens to the clatter of a metal bottle cap hitting the counter. “Is everyone alright?”

“Yeah. I mean, considering. We did it the way you wanted to.” Agron answers, takes a quick pull of his beer. “In and out. Got a fairly big supply. Gannicus took the drugs. Saxa has the jewelry, well, most of it. All the Romans were…dealt with. One casualty. We were safe.” 

“Nasir got the security system down?” Spartacus doesn’t know why he asks. Of course, he did. 

“Of course.” Agron echoes Spartacus’ thought, slides the deadbolt on the backdoor and steps onto the porch. They’ve already taken the furniture down into the basement in preparation for the fall rain, so Agron collapses down on the first step, leans into the railing. “He was perfect. Always.”

Spartacus doesn’t have to be near Agron to hear the tension in his voice, feels the unspoken words lingering through the phoneline like drops of honey. They stick to the airwaves, turn everything heavy and slow. Spartacus knows to wait it out, knows if he prods then Agron will lash out and never speak about it again. It’s all a waiting game until he hears the flicker of what sounds like a lighter on the other end, a slow inhale. 

Duro left his pack of Marlboros on the edge of the deck and Agron lights one, exhales the smoke to ground his nerves. He knows he shouldn’t. He should keep his comments to himself, his fears, but Spartacus isn’t just anyone. He’s seen Agron at his worst, his best, his in between. And honestly, Agron is tired of thinking about it and not speaking. 

“I don’t think…” Agron starts, stares out at the dew on the grass, the sharp chill of a fall night. “I don’t think we should do this to him anymore. Like, it needs to go back to the way it was. I’ll do whatever you need done, just not with him.” 

“What do you mean?” Spartacus asks, stares into his glass of bourbon until he can choke down a swallow. 

“Nasir, he just, it was,” Agron starts and stops and then starts, sighing. “He killed someone tonight, Spartacus. Not by himself, like I helped him, but his face. If you could have seen it. He doesn’t need that shit.” 

"He chose to do the job, Ags. He wanted to do it. You don’t get to make the call." Spartacus hardens his voice. He knows Agron tries to protect Nasir, tries to keep him out of the dirty shit, but he has to let Nasir live his life. He has to let him make the choices he does. 

"I know that. I was fucking there." Agron snaps, inhales sharp through his mouth. "I was also there to shove the knife into Varinius' chest because Nasir couldn't do it. Because he didn’t _want_ to do it. I was there when he had the panic attack because we asked him to be a murderer. He’s not meant for it. It’s not gonna happen again."

“You can’t just make the choice for him.” Spartacus interjects. He knows this fight. He knows all about the constant argument between Agron and Nasir. “If he didn’t want to do it, he could have backed out. You have to let Nasir be his own man.”

“Could he? Because you know as well as I do that he would do anything for you. We all would. It’s what we swore when we put this stupid fucking snake in our skin.” Agron hisses, the words sounding more like an insult than a fact. “But _this_ , this has repercussions. Shit I don’t even think he knew would happen.”

"Agron." Spartacus takes a moment, fingertips digging into the edge of the wood. “I never would have suggested it, allowed it, if he didn’t want to do it. You said you were going to go with or without my permission. I only thought I was giving you what you wanted.”

“Yeah well.” Agron’s sardonic tone sudden cuts out, followed by a sharp inhale. “I know I did this to him.”

“You can’t go down this path again, Agron.” Spartacus interrupts, already seeing the outcome of this train of thought. “You have to stop making yourself into this monster.” 

“There is still innocence in him, Spartacus. Something pure. Something I don’t want to fuck up.” Agron’s voice drops, his words slow and soft. He takes a long draw of his cigarette, stares up at the moon. He can’t see any stars, the neighborhood lights too bright, but Agron can faintly make out the big dipper. 

“I’ve already smudged him enough as it is.” 

It’s an image that lingers in Agron’s mind when he looks at Nasir sometimes, sees where his selfish fingers have left prints all over him. How Nasir has adopted some of Agron’s mannerisms, knows parts of his language, can fit in and fight with the best of them. And maybe Agron cherishes the relics of himself all over Nasir, knows he’s left a lasting impression, but there is guilt there too. Because Agron has given Nasir his best, the very best version of himself, but he’s also given him the worst – the honest truth of Agron and all the fucked up bits that make him up. 

“Okay.” Spartacus sighs slowly, exhales into the stillness of his home office. He knows that Agron is right, even if he hates it. Even if he knows he’s partly to blame. “Okay, we’ll figure something out.”

“If I don’t stop it now, what’s the point? What’s the whole point of fucking fighting them if we’re turning into them?” Agron asks, vicious and sharp. “I won’t do it, Spartacus. I fucking can’t. Not to him. Not to us.” 

“I said okay!” Spartacus’ voice raises, just enough of an edge to be a warning. “I fucking get it, alright? How many times are we going to have the same fucking conversation?”

“Spartacus, come on.” Agron’s voice is softer now, earnest in his way of sounding out vowels. “Is this what you really imagined all those years ago? Fighting and killing Romans? Always looking over your shoulder? Fearing someone is going to shoot out your windows? Are you having fun? Do you feel safe? Is Mira safe?” 

“This isn’t all our fault. They started this shit. They always push back. We’re on the offense most of the time.” Spartacus can feel his hackles raising. It’s late. He’s exhausted. He shouldn’t be having this conversation across the city from one another. “I didn’t think we’d get this far.” 

The world stretches out around them, the late night and into the early morning. This is the time for deep thinking, for over thinking, for blaming oneself for all the shit that life has given you. Agron and Spartacus can both feel the festering weight of it all, the knowledge of mortality and time. But maybe there is a silver lining, maybe a sliver of hope in the darkness of it all, that they’re here together – side by side and staring into the darkness. Only the darkness there to stare back.

“We can’t stop now.” Agron reasons, tries to lessen the blame a little, voice a murmur. “But what is the end of this? When we wipe them out, what’s next? Do you know?”

“Fuck, retirement hopefully.” Spartacus tries to laugh but the sound is brittle, choked a little at the end. “Let’s go to Jamaica. Rent a bungalow with a big yard. Lots of palm trees.”

“Mira and Nasir would love that.” Agron draws in another pull of the cigarette, lets the nicotine settle in his lungs before expelling it towards the stars should be. “Just lay on the beach and day drink.”

“Out of coconuts?” Spartacus asks, can feel the corner of his mouth raising. “Little umbrellas?”

“I’ll follow you anywhere, Spartacus. You know that.” Agron sighs softly, feels the anger draining out of his veins. “Just pick a place and we’ll go.”

“I know.” Spartacus glances down at the red serpent on his forearm, it’s teeth open and sharp lines near his wrist. 

Agron keeps his head tilted back, stares up at the dull glow of the sky. There is more he should say, more he should tell Spartacus. They’ve always been each other’s confidant, their brotherhood intertwined for so long it feels like a bloodline. But Agron’s tired and his cigarette is almost done and when he opens his mouth to say something more – confess more – a sound behind him draws his attention. 

“Agron?” Nasir standing in the doorway, a glass of water clutched in his hand. The shirt he’s wearing is too big, hanging loose and open around his thighs, haired half dry and wild. 

“Hey baby. What’s wrong?” Agron tilts his phone away from his ear a little, squinting to see him through the mesh. 

“I woke up and was thirsty and you weren’t in bed.” Nasir tucks one of his feet up, digs his toes into the tile. “I thought…I wasn’t sure…”

“I’m right here.” Agron turns, flicks his cigarette butt off into the grass. 

“Go, Ags.” Spartacus sighs down the phone line. “Take your boyfriend back to bed and we’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Yeah man. Goodnight.” Agron mutters into the phone, already standing up and slipping it into the pocket of his sweats. 

Nasir moves away from the screen door when Agron opens it, takes a few steps until his back is against the island. In the light from over the stove, the shadows under Nasir’s eyes look bruised. He had been silent the whole drive from the movie theater to the house, had stripped his clothes off in the light of the street lamps pouring through the blinds, left them in a pile just beside the hamper. He hadn’t even looked at Agron when they climbed into the shower together, turned his face into the water so Agron couldn’t see the tears already running down his face. 

Agron doesn’t know what to say, every phrase getting stuck to the roof of his mouth like bitter taffy. He moves slow, steps close enough until he can gently touch Nasir’s jaw. It won’t make it better, not even close to a band aid over a gaping wound, but he presses kisses to Nasir’s forehead like it will help. Trails his mouth down, brushes his lips over Nasir’s eyelids, down onto his cheeks, feels the wetness of his hair against his knuckles. 

Nasir leans into it, pushes his glass onto the counter and wraps his arms around Agron’s waist instead. His skin is cool from being outside without a shirt and Nasir leans his cheek against it, can faintly hear Agron’s heartbeat over the rushing in his own ears. He’s short enough that he thinks if he tried hard enough, Agron could wrap his whole body around Nasir, could drown in all that muscle and heat. 

“Let’s go back to bed.” Agron murmurs into Nasir’s hair, hand on the back of Nasir's neck squeezing. He knows under his palm is the vibrant red curl of a snake tattoo, one that matches his own forearm. 

They don't really separate, fingers tangled as Agron goes to lock the door, makes sure it’s latched all the way. He lets Nasir go up the stairs first, keeps just one step behind, watches Nasir’s heels on the hardwood. He doesn’t avoid the creaks, lets the house groan around them as they finally reach the top floor, shuffle into their room. 

Nasir crawls over Agron’s side to get to his own, knees digging into the mattress until he curls up on his side, facing the window. He’s not wearing anything under the shirt, the hem flipping high on his leg, cutting over his hip. Agron traces his fingers over his name there, gets in under the covers and curls immediately around Nasir, settles his palm against the warm skin. He knows it’s Nasir’s favorite way to sleep, to have the curve of Agron all along his back, his arm around his waist. 

Closing his eyes, Agron tries to settle his brain enough to fall back asleep. He keeps hearing Spartacus' words in his head, his observations so cutting. Agron has known his fate for a long time. He stood at the edge of his parent's graves and knew he was going to be a product of his environment. He was going to be the teeth to Spartacus' iron fist. He was always going to be a fighter, violent and furious. 

Nasir sniffles, not a crying sniffle but one to cut the silence. He's still tense against Agron's front. If it were another night, Agron might move his hand further down, trace down over Nasir's hip to below. He might roll them together, to leech the stress out of him with slow, wet kisses and a dedicated hand around his cock. But Agron doesn't think that is what he wants, and honestly, Agron feels a little too fucked up in the head to try and do it. He'd rather just lay here and listen to Nasir's breathing. 

"You're holding me different." Nasir's voice is barely above a whisper, a ghost in the dark. He doesn't roll back into Agron, just holds still, makes Agron curve around his back. 

"I'm right here." Agron responds, watches the edge of his t-shirt sliding on Nasir's shoulder. There is a bruise just shy of the back of his neck that would match Agron’s mouth if he pressed it there.

"But we're not." Nasir replies, his fingertips trailing over the blanket in front of him. "We're not right here. We're different." 

"What do you mean?" Agron feels it, the sick sinking of the acid in his stomach, suddenly churning and sharp. 

"This is gonna change us." Nasir's voice doesn't change, exhaling the words into the stillness. 

"Baby." Agron exhales slow, lets all the air out of his lungs. He needs to see Nasir's face, needs to see his eyes and understand. But Nasir is unrelenting against him and when Agron moves his hand higher, over his stomach, Nasir's fingers catch his own. 

"I need you to know I don't regret it." Nasir continues, his palm pressing into the back of Agron's hand. "You have to know that."

"Okay." Agron can't breathe. His chest is burning. 

"I can't explain it. I know it doesn't fucking make sense and I don't want to think too much about it 'cause I think I'm not really processing it. Because there is a part of me that thinks..." Nasir trails off for a moment, just long enough to turn his head, his profile illuminated by the street lamp outside. 

"I liked it."

Agron doesn't bother saying words, doesn't think he can come up with any anyways at this point. Instead, he leans forward, presses his mouth to Nasir's bare shoulder, kisses the sharp cut of it. He's so fucking afraid. So fucking scared that he's ruined everything and Nasir isn't fucking thinking clearly because he's running on horror and adrenaline. Agron knows all the warning signs of trauma, knows what can start as dealing with something quickly turns into a lasting wound. 

"I don't feel bad for killing him." Nasir continues, moves his arm up so he can slip his fingers into Agron's hair. Nasir's hold keeps him curved down, Agron not really kissing him as much as resting his mouth against his skin. They're all wrapped up together now, intertwined until it's hard to tell where one of them starts and the other begins, legs and hands and arms. "What he did to me was bad, but the women in that house, the shit he did before. Gannicus gave me the full report. And you know they weren't the only ones. We all know what the Romans are like, what they make their money in."

Humming in agreement, Agron tightens his arm around Nasir's waist, wraps it all the way around him until his knuckles are against the bed. Listening to the soft timber of his voice is helping, though Agron still feels raw, cut up and festering on the inside. He's waiting for the other shoe to drop, held in suspense, for Nasir to turn to him and blame it all on him. Agron knows he deserves that. Knows at the end of the day, this – like most things – is his fault.

"Does that make me a bad person for wanting to get rid of another bad person?" Nasir asks, turns his head just enough his lips brush over Agron's cheek. "Am I bad now?"

"No, baby. Never." Agron raises his mouth enough to speak. He feels like he’s having this conversation through static, like he’s tuned to the wrong radio station, only managing to get blips and pieces. "It's not black and white like that. You did what you had to do to protect yourself and help others. What could be wrong about that?" 

"I didn't know about the girls though when we got there. I was going to do it anyways." Nasir confesses, shakes his head. "I killed him for me. Not them."

"You didn't kill him."

Agron doesn't say it lightly, reaching up to brush his fingers over Nasir's jaw. 

"I did." Nasir turns his face then, stares over at Agron with those dark, dark eyes. He looks almost frightened at admitting it, bottom lip trembling. "It was my knife."

"My hand over your hand." Agron explains, states it as simple fact. This is it. This is the way it has to be. “I pulled it forward. I twisted it. I got him down on the floor to begin with. You were just there." 

"Agron," Nasir tries to argue, opening his mouth. But it hangs there, absent and quiet. 

"Blame it on me. I'll take it." Agron reassures, his thumb tracing over Nasir's jaw. "I did it. You were just in the way."

"It's not about blame." Nasir tries to argue, furrowing his brow. He seems to be suddenly realizing where this conversation is heading, hands turning desperate in Agron’s hair. "Hey, hey, stop. Agron, don't. I _chose_ to do this. Don't do this to yourself." 

"I'm not. I'm not doing anything. But you know it's true." Agron holds Nasir still, keeps him from rolling all the way over. "I'm okay with it. It's who I am. We both know that. It's what I do. But you don't have to blame yourself for this. _You don't have to do this ever again_."

"We did this together." Nasir argues, shaking his head. "Like we do everything. Together. "

"Not this."

Agron lets the words hang, sharp and brittle and cutting. Nasir has gone still against him, his eyes slowly falling closed. It's not what needs to be said right now. Agron realizes it all at once, but it's too late to take back what he's already said. It's too late to apologize and move forward. And apologize for what? How can Nasir not see that Agron would do anything for him? Take any blame? Take any punishment. Beat him. Kill him. Anything to keep Nasir safe. 

"I love you." Nasir begins, slow and so very fucking careful. "But you can't save me from myself, Agron. You don't get to take on the blame for everything I do that isn't pretty or isn't nice. I have bad parts too. I'm in this as much as you are."

"It's easier if you just blame it on me." Agron whispers, feels like it's a confession peeled straight from the lining of his lungs. 

"For you or for me?" 

And there it is. The slow and sickly feeling sinking down into the marrow of Agron's bones. He can see it too clear, picture suddenly too saturated and too in focus. And who else would know Agron this well? Of course Nasir knows. 

"We killed someone tonight, Agron. Both of us are to blame for that." Nasir's fingers are cold when they touch Agron's cheeks, holding his face between soft palms. "And we will either recover and move forward or we will drown in the guilt. But you don't get to just tell me to give up all the blame so you can play martyr and I can get off free. Because I'm not. I'm not free. Anything that hurts you, that causes you pain, it does the same to me. So, we're in this together regardless."

"I don't want you to wake up tomorrow and realize how fucked up this is." Agron argues back, tries to explain it the best way he can. "I want you to have a good life, Nasir. Without knowing all the shit you know and doing all the shit you've done. I want only happiness and love and safety."

"You are my happiness. You are my love. _You are my safety_." Nasir leans forward then, presses his mouth carefully and slow to Agron's, willing him to understand. "And tomorrow, I'm going to feel a way about it. I'm going to take a little to process it. But I'm not going to do it alone and it's not going to ruin me. Because I know who I am and I know why we did it. And that's enough for me."

"You know I love you." Desperately, Agron brushes hair from Nasir's face, kisses him again and again. "I just want to make it all better. To make everything for you better."

"You being here with me makes it better." Nasir sniffles back his tears, lets himself be overwhelmed with kisses and gentle touches. "We'll be okay, Ags. I promise. We'll be just fine." 

Agron can do nothing but nod, pulling Nasir as close as he possibly can. They somehow seem to fit, all the awkward angles and curves of one another, linked up tight and wrapped in thick blankets. It's enough though, a haven from the storm swirling just outside of the safety of each other's arms. And if it takes they both a long time to fall asleep, then at least they do that together too.

\- - - 

He hears it before he sees it, the rough cracks and pops of tires on gravel, the rattling of chains. Nasir is perched on the edge of the work bench, a bottle of water in hand and an apple in the other, when the tow truck edges along the shop’s driveway. A Subaru Forester is strapped to the back, a German flag sticker set in the corner of the front windshield – familiar in a way that Nasir already knows who must be in the tow cab. The sun is glinting on the windshield, blinding in the early afternoon, but it cuts away as the truck moves and Nasir can vaguely make out the outline of Gannicus’ face and Duro’s next to him. 

Slipping off the metal table, Nasir takes his time strolling over to them. The sun is bright but isn’t warm and the cool breeze has the hairs on Nasir’s arms standing up. He’s too covered in grease though to untie his coveralls, only his palms not streaked from black engines. It's splotched against his tank, along his collarbone, left over from an oil tank that wouldn't drop without a fight. 

Stopping a few feet away, Nasir raises the arm holding the apple, blocks some of the glare as Gannicus cranks the window down. 

“He’s not here.” Nasir supplies in way of greeting, squinting his eyes. “I’m the only one.” 

"Maybe I was here to see you, angel." Gannicus grins behind his large aviators, a piece of gum wedged in his teeth. "How are you? You look good. Grease monkey Nasir is one of my favorites." 

"I'm fine." Nasir drawls, glances between the two of them. Duro is slumped low in the seat, a bottle of blue Gatorade pressed into his temple, hood pulled up over his curls. Gannicus is at least upright, but he's wearing a shirt that gapes at the neck, a little too over-sized so the bruise on his collarbone peaks out. "Are you?"

"I'm kinda barely conscious and feel like road kill." Duro doesn't turn his head as much as he rolls it along the seat cushion, squinting in the light. "But I'm here. Queer. Ready for beer."

"I think you're a little past that point." Nasir scoffs. He’s heard that phrase too many times, usually spilling out of the mouth of the other Giesler. 

“Gotta forgive our young boyyo here. First time he’s ever drank with a champ.” Gannicus smirks over at Duro, earning a half-hearted middle finger in return. 

“You didn’t tell him that bullshit about getting past drunk, did you? The whole ‘if you drink enough, you won’t be hung over.’” Nasir reprimands, already seeing the guilty grin on Gannicus’ face. “That isn’t a thing.” 

“You tried it!” Gannicus defends himself, voice raising only to have Duro let out a miserable sound, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Sorry bambi.” He coos in response, reaches out to gently pet Duro’s head, down onto the side of his neck. 

“About that.” Nasir squints his eyes a little. It's starting to click in Nasir's mind, like little pieces of a puzzle he wasn’t even aware he was supposed to be solving. "I also remember blacking out for the first time ever so, I don’t think it worked.”

“Oh man. Agron was so fucking _pissed_.” Duro groans, the corners of his mouth lifting. “So pissed.”

“Anyways.” Nasir puts an end to that story immediately. “Why are you here?"

“Something happened with the car.” Duro waves a thumb towards the back of the truck. “Wouldn’t start.”

“ _Uh huh_.” Nasir can’t keep his eyes off the bruise on Gannicus’ chest, the ring of them all in a neat line across the sharp cut of his bone. They’re still violently red, deepening to a purple in the center. “And you just picked him up out of the goodness of your heart?” 

“Charity is a Christian moral, Nasir.” Gannicus looks mock offended, pressing a hand to his chest. “How dare you.”

“You wouldn’t be allowed within fifty miles of the pearly gates.” Quick on the reply, Nasir sneers the words a little, just enough that they could sting. It doesn’t have time to fester though as Duro lets out a low groan, suddenly leaning forward in his seat. His Gatorade bottle drops to the floorboard, rolling in a sad arch as Duro’s chest spasms, lurching violently. 

“Not on the floor. Not on the floor!” Gannicus scrambles over the seat, manages to throw open the door just as Duro half tumbles, half falls out, retching miserably into the gutter. 

“Jesus fuck.” Nasir mutters, ignores the fact that it’s such an Agron turn of phrase, and backs up a few more steps, pressing a hand over his mouth. He’s not far enough away that he doesn’t hear the cooing of Gannicus’ voice or the miserable sounds of vomit on concrete, but he at least can’t smell it over the grease and gasoline on his own arm. 

“That’s it. It’s okay. Better out than in, princess.” Inside the truck, Gannicus is mostly leaned out, pushing Duro’s hood back and rubbing his shoulders. “You’ll be ‘ight. Just get it out.” 

“Why did we do vodka? I said no vodka.” Duro moans miserably, a sweaty hand coming up to grip Gannicus’ t-shirt. 

“Tequila sounded like a worse idea.” Gannicus answers honestly, drags his fingers through Duro’s hair. 

“Point.” Croaking, voice now raw, Duro manages to slump to his feet, leaning heavily into the hood of the truck. “Nasir-“

“There is a gum in my bag and water in the fridge. Just go.” Pointing, Nasir grimaces a little as Duro hobbles by him, bow legged and clutching his stomach. 

Nasir watches him walk off, waits until he ducks under the awning for the shop and disappears before he turns slowly back to the truck. Gannicus has pulled the passenger door shut, is back behind the wheel and sipping from Duro’s forgotten Gatorade. He doesn’t even flinch when Nasir suddenly marches forward, a sardonic grin sliding over his face. 

“You know he’s going to fucking kill you, right?” Nasir hisses, hooks his arm over the window ledge of Gannicus’ door. “Like actually _murder_ you.”

“Why?” Gannicus shrugs a little. He smells like blue raspberry and sweat, curls pulled up in a high bun. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You fucked his little brother!” Nasir whisper yells, glancing around as if Agron is suddenly going to pop up from behind a pile of scrap metal, murderous scowl and baseball bat in place. 

“How do you know he didn’t fuck-“ Gannicus starts, only to be met with an eyeroll, grinning wide. “Okay, yeah. He’s kinda walking like a duck.”

“Gannicus!” Nasir does yell this time, voice pitched high. 

“It was fine! It was very consensual! I promise! We drank after we agreed to it. Seriously.” Gannicus tries to avoid it but Nasir manages to nail a punch to his shoulder, hissing. “Careful! I gotta bruise there!”

“Oh my god. Bleach my fucking brain." Nasir recoils sharply, nose wrinkled. "What is wrong with you? _What is wrong with you?_ "

"What? I'm allowed to have adult fun." Gannicus sniffs a little, straightening his shirt where it's half slid on his shoulder. “It’s not like I deflowered him on prom night, seriously. It was just a bit of fun. No string. No big emotions. Fun.”

“A bit of fun?” Nasir rolls his eyes hard enough it actually hurts. “After all the shit that both of you have been through recently, you think-“

“Calm down. It was just a bit of fucking. A lil romp in the sheets.” Gannicus waves his hand, dismissing Nasir’s exasperation. “Besides, it’s not like you’re going to go run and tattle to Ags. He doesn’t have to know our business.” 

“I don’t lie to my boyfriend.” Nasir snaps, crossing his arms over themselves. He’s still gripping that apple, the skin probably bruised now. 

“I didn’t ask you to lie.” Gannicus shrugs a little, that shit eating grin growing over his face. “It’s just a secret. Just like what happened when he went to Delphi.”

“Wh-“ Dread pools in the center of Nasir’s stomach, turned hot and blistering, as he gapes at Gannicus. “You know that was an accident!”

“Doesn’t matter. Still happened.” Gannicus shrugs a shoulder, teasing and a little cruel. “What would Agron say if he knows his precious baby boy sent _illicit_ photos and a video to his very best friend? A video in which you weren’t wearing a single thing.”

“He would probably wonder why you still have them!” Nasir snarls, reaching forward to punch Gannicus in that bruise again. “Your name was listed as ‘Asshole’ in my phone. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“You were clearly preoccupied.” Gannicus raises his sunglasses, lets his gaze flit over Nasir’s chest. “I remember. What was it that you said? Something about wanting to sit on his big cock and-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Nasir is nearly in the truck now, smacks Gannicus again for good measure. “That’s not even a good blackmail. He’d kill you too.”

“I never said I was going to tell him. Just thought I would cloud drop the video at the next meeting. Spartacus would love that.” Gannicus lets out a high laugh at the horrified look on Nasir’s face, mouth and eyes huge. “Oh my god, you should see yourself.”

“I will literally chop your fucking balls off.” Nasir falls back half a step, straightening his tank top where it’s twisted in the struggle. “You’re such a fucking asshole. First, you do fucking blow and try to guilt us into a threesome. Then you fuck around with Duro, knowing it’s a fucking bad idea. Now you’re blackmailing me with revenge porn?”

“Whoa, whoa. Hold on. I was only teasing. You can tell Agron if you want.” Gannicus shrugs, opens the Gatorade again. “Duro is a big boy. He can handle himself.”

“But you know he’s not going to see it like that.” Nasir stresses each word. “And you’re both so vulnerable right now-“

“Not every sexual act has to be some big declaration of our soulmate love.” Gannicus interrupts on a scoff. “We got drunk. We fucked. We drank some more. Fucked some more. And now we’re here, asking for your mechanical help – not a psych evaluation. So, Dr. Giesler, if you wouldn’t mind. I get that you don’t know what it means to casually get your dick wet but it’s not a big deal.”

“That is so fucking rude.” Nasir snarls, slams his palm down on the edge of the truck door, banging loudly. 

“Hey, hey, angel. Come on.” Quick to reach out, Gannicus wraps his slightly clammy hand around Nasir’s wrist, tugging on him. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re getting all worked up over nothing.”

“Maybe I care about you, jackass.” Nasir huffs, lets Gannicus pull him so he’s fully against the door. “Both of you. And this seems like a really fucked up idea.”

“Well, it was our idea, not yours.” Gannicus doesn’t say it meanly, just states it as a matter of fact. “And it’s our lives. So, I don’t bitch and tell you what to do – don’t do it to us.”

Nasir just stands there, mouth dropped open in shock, wrist still caught. He can’t think of anything to say, overwhelmed with the heat that slowly crawls up his chest, over his neck, cheeks on fire. Gannicus seems to watch it with an odd sense of satisfaction, grip changing slightly as he cocks his head to the side. 

"I'm not being a dick." Gannicus tries to offer, shrugging a little. "I'm just sayin'."

"Fine. Do what you want. I don't want to hear about it then." Nasir yanks his arm out of Gannicus' hold. 

It makes him squirm, taken back to last night with Nemetes' hand on him, his rancid breath on Nasir's face. The blue glow of the swimming pool had turned everything weird and skewed - mostly in shadow of that looming house. Nasir feels like it didn't even fucking happen the way he remembers it, too panicked to really process what Nemetes was actually saying to him - what he was implying. But Gannicus' teasing touch is enough to trigger it all back, Nasir left feeling nauseous and itchy.

"Alright angel." Gannicus sighs deeply, relaxing his head against the seat. "I didn't mean-"

"It's fine. It's whatever." Nasir's fingers fumble the apple, it hitting the gravel with a soft pop. He doesn't go to retrieve it, instead curls his hand around where Gannicus' had just been, holding his wrist against his chest. 

"You good? What's wrong?" Gannicus moves to get out of the truck, but Nasir shakes his head, lets out a high, breathy laugh. “Nasir, I was only teasing. I don’t even have them anymore. I know it was an accident. I would never do that to you.”

"I'm fine. Tired of talkin' about it." He stumbles back, legs knocking into a pile of hub caps that clatter to the asphalt with a loud clang. "Just drop the car in the bay, yeah?" 

It takes everything in his will power not to bolt, turns and forces himself to walk as calm as he can through the garage to the side door, slipping into the office. There is no one around at the shop today, everyone busy with something else, and for once Nasir is happy for the silence, for the privacy. No one there to watch him fumble with the door knob, heart racing and breath quick.

It's blissfully dark in here, the blinds shut against the bright afternoon light. Nasir doesn't collapse as much as he slides down the door, digs the heels of his hands into his eyes until the lights blink across his eyelids. It's not like it was a big deal. Nemetes talks some shit, oh well. He's always been a fucking creep and a leech. Nasir should be used to it. It's just the way he said it, the way he seemed so fucking sure. 

Nasir knows that there is no way Nemetes knows shit about him. He’s barely ever paid attention to Nasir, outside of antagonizing Agron with him. Nasir is just an accessory in Nemetes mind. Still, it just felt…wrong. Charged in a way that makes Nasir think Nemetes knows more than he lets on. Or at least, makes him feel bold enough to basically imply Nasir should be one of the Roman’s kept pets. 

"Nasir, you good?" Duro's knuckles rap against the door. His voice is shot, all rough and low. 

"Yeah. Yeah. Just lookin' for something." Nasir chokes out, rubs harder at his face. "Go make sure Gannicus didn't hit the side of the building, please?"

“Okay.”

Duro’s footsteps trail off over the cement and Nasir lets them disappear completely before he lets out his sob. It’s a broken sound, choked and sharp, and Nasir immediately slams his hands over his mouth, trying to silence himself. He needs to pull it together. Needs to fucking get a grip. It’s not even that big of a deal. So what? They did a thorough attack last night and Agron is fucked up from it and Nemetes is a creep. Nasir doesn’t have to worry about that, right? Everything is going to be fine. 

_Everything is going to be fine._

Maybe if he repeats it, treats it like a mantra, then he’ll believe it. Like it will erase the way Agron had been this morning, haunted and dark eyed. Nasir hadn’t known what to make of it at first. It had felt different, so fucking different, when they first got into bed together. Like Agron was slowly being crushed behind him, even the way he was breathing was different – short and quick. And Nasir hadn’t been able to talk him down, it seemed, not at first. But trying to unravel Agron’s thoughts is a lot like unwinding a ball of tangled yarn – it’s all there but it’s so fucking complicated. With every knot undone, there is another one to find and work through. And Nasir wants to, he does, but he isn’t sure he can. Not when Agron builds up his walls so fast, so careful in his selfish selflessness. 

Digging in his pocket, Nasir yanks his phone out, fingers shaking as they slide over the lock screen. His background is a picture of Agron, back lit and grinning outside of someone’s house, Duro’s arm thrown around him and Saxa flipping the camera off between them, bent at the waist. Nasir only looks at it for a second, only allows the fondness to seep into the panic, before he’s clicking on his contacts and scrolling. 

It takes him a minute to get towards the end of the alphabet, holding his thumb over the name, debating and fighting with himself. He should have just told Agron. He should have talked it out with him. But there wasn’t time and then this morning happened and Agron had been so upset. Nasir wasn’t going to add to that. It’s like an impulse, Nasir’s lingering and then he’s pressing the button, listening to it ring. 

“Hey. Are you okay?” It only takes two of them for the line to pick up, voice low and careful. 

“I need to talk to you.” Nasir answers, digs the toes of his shoes into the floor before him. He waits a beat before adding. “Just you.” 

After a rustle and a pause on the other end, the answer is simple enough. “I have time now.”

“I can’t. Duro and Gannicus are here. Can we meet up later?” Nasir stares around the office, notices the pictures on the shelf, the line of keys under the window. “I’m not expected home until seven but I can be done by five.”

“I’ll send a car.”

Nasir doesn’t wait for a goodbye because he knows he’s not going to get it. Instead, he hangs up, slips the phone back into his pocket. It doesn’t help him feel lighter, but it does help him feel grounded – like he’s actually doing something about it. 

It takes him another five minutes to pull himself together enough that he can slip out of the office and back into the garage. Duro has taken up residence on the table Nasir had vacated, nursing a bottle of water with Gannicus perched between his legs. They seem to be whispering to one another, Duro giving a chortled laugh when Gannicus’ hands slide up his thigh, gripping a hip. 

“You’re on camera.” Nasir drawls in way of greeting, hands up and digging into his hair, fixing it back up into a bun. 

“So?” Gannicus doesn’t seem that concerned, turning around to lean into Duro’s chest instead. 

Duro’s voice turns syrupy and slow, a horrible Southern accent coming out. “We wasn’t doing nothing officer.”

Nasir doesn’t even bother with a verbal response, just rolls his eyes and heads towards the Forester. He knows this car about as well as he knows he own. Duro isn’t the most aware when it comes to vehicles. He’s run this one out of oil before, out of gas, broke the rearview mirror fifteen minutes after purchasing it. Nasir has a whole checklist of things to go over whenever Duro drops it off. 

“What’s wrong this-Duro!” Nasir cuts himself off with a shout, whipping around, hand still holding up the hood. 

“I have a good reason!” Duro instantly defends, arms flexing around Gannicus. He looks like a scolded toddler, bottom lip sticking out. “I do!”

“Did you fucking take scissors to your serpentine belt?” Nasir looks back in, sees the plastic handles half sticking out of the fan, the rubber belt wrapped up in its blades. “You dumb fuck!”

“Hey, hey now!” Gannicus tries to intervene, stopping abruptly when Nasir turns back, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. He lets out a sharp hiss, nose wrinkling up as he rolls his shoulders back. 

“Holy shit.” Duro mutters, hands spasming on Gannicus’ stomach. 

“It’s uncanny. Seriously.” Gannicus agrees, shaking his head. 

“How do they do that? Look like each other?” Duro asks, jumps hard when Nasir suddenly chucks his water bottle at him, it hitting the wall next to his head.

“Shut up. _Shut up!_ ” Crossing his arms over his chest, Nasir levels them both with an unimpressed glare. “Explain. Now.”

“See, it’s a funny story, really.” Duro tries to chuckle, nudging into Gannicus so he grins too. “You see, I was scheduled to work at the Nickle this morning. And I was totally on my way. But then I pulled up the actual schedule and saw…I mean I can’t be expected…I was opening with Nemetes, Donar, and Auctus. And Agron. Like, you can’t expect me to. The fucking tension in that place? And with a hang over?”

“Duro.” Nasir digs his fingers into the bridge of his nose. “Did you just cut it or did you throw scissors in there?”

“I…” Duro drags out, grimacing. “I gently tossed them?”

“You know you broke your fan, right? And your belt? And possibly could have put a hole in your radiator.” Nasir lists off, tries to take a deep breath. “This is a lot of work. A lot of expensive work.”

“Good thing we have the best mechanic in all of the Southend.” Gannicus tries to cheer brightly, then after Nasir’s pointed look, follows it up. “Best mechanic in the world!”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Nasir has been putting up with antics for too long. He’s almost used to something ridiculous and entirely avoidable happening because someone decided to make a rash decision. Turning back to the car, Nasir pops the hood again, hooks the arm in it to keep it up. It’s going to be a long process, especially because there is no knowing what the extent of the damage is. 

“Why couldn’t you just call out like a normal person?” Nasir mutters to himself, reaches in and starts tugging on the handle of the scissors. “Seriously?”

“You know why. Agron would have been either pissed or fucking worried and then I’d have him knocking on my door and ya know.” Duro motions his head down, gesturing at Gannicus. “I thought it best to just have car trouble.”

“You could have faked car trouble.” Nasir answers, lifting a leg to plant to his foot on Duro’s front fender, using the leverage to keep pulling. “Faked a weird rattle.”

“But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to hang out with my favorite brother-in-law.” Duro’s grin is so wide and so sincere when Nasir glances at him, he feels a piece of his anger chipping away, turning back to hide his own indulgent smile. 

“Shut up.”

“I mean, come on angel. Would you want to work with Nemetes, Auctus, and Donar at ten in the morning?” Gannicus asks, settling further into leaning into Duro’s grip. “You’d sabotage yourself too.”

“I wouldn’t abandon Agron to deal with it.” Nasir snorts. He finally manages to unwedge the scissors only to find that part of the blade has broken off in fan. 

“But you would sabotage both of you so he doesn’t have to deal with it either.” Gannicus points at Nasir, already sees through him.

"Because I'm a good partner." Nasir doesn't see the issue with it. Of course he would help Agron avoid bullshit. 

“Yeah but you only hate Donar.” Duro reasons it off. “I have to deal with all of them.”

“I don’t hate Donar.” Nasir finds the words easier to say then they should be. And maybe he doesn’t. Maybe, deep down, he feels a little bad for him. Just in the way he held onto a dream for so long that wasn’t going to happen. 

“Liar.” Laughing, Gannicus tilts his head. “You literally pointed a knife at him. Nemetes told me so.” 

“Ugh. Don’t fucking mention that name.” Duro mutters, interjecting as he takes a long swallow from his water bottle. "I'm avoiding them, remember?"

“What did Nemetes ever do to you?” Gannicus tips his head back to look at Duro. “He’s literally harmless, just a little, sniffling rat. Scavenger type, ya know. Always waiting for scraps.” 

"You're so sweet to your friends." Duro lays a quick kiss to the corner of Gannicus’ eye, honestly so fond. “And I know that but he takes it too far sometimes. He’s just so…” 

“He’s a creep.” Nasir finishes for him, reaches behind himself for a wrench. 

“That’s not a reason.” Gannicus shrugs, reaches down to start dragging his fingers along the hole in Duro’s jeans. “We've always known he was a little sketchy. Doesn't stop him from being a Rebel."

"Yeah but..." Duro trails off, struggling for a minute. "Well, something weird happened with him and I dunno. It felt wrong and gross. And now he keeps like hinting at it."

Deep in the engine, Nasir's hand slips on the wrench, sliding down to slam his knuckles into the sharp edge of the fan cover. It doesn't break skin, but the bruise is almost instantaneous, Nasir barely biting the shout of pain as he rears back. Gannicus is already there to meet him, having heard the sharp clang, gentle, strong hands pulling him away from the car. 

"Fuck, you okay?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, it's fine. My hands are just greasy." Nasir hisses through his teeth, accepts the shop towel that Gannicus gives to him. It's the type of wound that feels better when you press on it, Gannicus' palm wrapped over Nasir's smaller one. “Fuck!”

"Are you even supposed to be here? Are you cleared for work?" Gannicus asks, tries to keep his voice down like Duro won't hear him six feet away. "Does Agron know-"

"I don’t need a babysitter. I'm a fucking adult! I don't have to get permission." Nasir snaps, relenting a little when Gannicus frowns, brushing his thumb across Nasir's palm. 

"Alright, angel. Okay. I know that. I'm only worried."

"I'm fine. My ribs are fine. Melitta told me I could come back." Nasir does feel okay, maybe sore, but mostly functioning. He still lets Gannicus lead him over to a metal stool, sits down for a minute, but only because he can feel himself shaking. He blames it on the empty stomach and coffee, not anything else. Gannicus doesn't let him go until he brushes a kiss to Nasir's temple, enough of a soft touch that Nasir feels the tension in his spine releasing, just a little. For all of Gannicus’ faults, there is no questioning his loyalty.

"Duro, what were you saying?" Gannicus asks when Nasir is settled. 

"Oh. It's not a big deal." Duro mutters, shrugging his large shoulders. “Forget it.”

"It clearly was." Gannicus leans on his elbow at the counter beside Nasir's seat. 

"I think it was mostly a miscommunication." Duro grimaces a little. "And it was embarrassing. So, I didn't really mention it to anyone. It's really not even a big deal."

Both Gannicus and Nasir share a look before turning back to him, making a continue hand motion. If it weren’t a big deal, Duro would have already confessed to it. He has the biggest mouth in the Rebels, always eager to share drama.

"Well, okay, you can't tell Agron though." Duro points between them. “Ever.”

"I never tell him anything anyways." Gannicus says, so obtuse it's clearly a lie. Nasir for his part looks guilty, wrinkling his nose.

"Duro, you know I can't just-" 

"It's not a lie if he never knows to ask!" Duro reasons, giving Nasir an out. "Besides, what's a secret among friends? Family even?" 

"Just tell me." Nasir sighs deeply, looks up at the ceiling. He hopes Agron doesn't get too pissed when this, like every other secret in the gang, gets revealed. 

"Okay, well, when you were in the hospital - that first night. After Agron had like his mental breakdown and Melitta took him back to see you, Spartacus decided we all should split up and figure shit out, ya know? So, he sent Donar and Auctus to the bar to help close it down and I got sent to the house to pick you guys up some clothes because Agron was literally a walking nightmare. Just blood everywhere.” Duro explains quickly, talking with his hands. “But I couldn’t go alone for safety reasons so I got stuck with Nemetes. Which wasn’t a big deal except…”

“Uh huh.” Nasir prompts, nodding his head. 

“Well, we got to the house. I told him to double check everything was locked while I went upstairs to get clothes and shit. I didn’t think you’d want someone random digging through your stuff, ya know? So, I was in your closet – which by the way, how the fuck is that even organized?” Duro interrupts himself, holding up a finger. 

“I wear a lot of Agron’s clothes.” It seems like an obvious answer, Nasir shrugging his shoulders. 

“I mean, obviously. But still. It’s like a –“ Gannicus clears his throat, prompting Duro with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, anyways. So, I’m up there, trying to decide what you’d actually want to wear, and fucking Nemetes comes up behind with a fucking Löwenbräu.”

“The disrespect!” Gannicus gasps, half in mockery and half in seriousness. “Not the imported stuff.”

“ _I know!_ ” Duro doesn’t catch the tone, keeps going. “So, I told him to like, not drink Agron’s shit and wait for me downstairs. And then he just…kinda…well…”

Nasir lets his gaze trail over Duro. He’s half slumped over, shifting awkward back and forth, grimacing as he tries to resituate. Nasir doesn’t want to unpack why sitting on a metal table is probably torture to Duro right now, but he’s sure half of his struggling is from trying to tie up the story. He seems to finally give up, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. 

“He tried to fuck me?”

“What?” Nasir cries at the same time that Gannicus lets out a loud, barking laugh. It’s the type that just bursts out of the body, unprompted and shocking, and then Gannicus bends in half as he follows it up with a round of giggling. Nasir barely has to swing his leg to catch him in the ribs, sending Gannicus nearly on his ass as he catches himself on the counter. 

“Oh my god.” Wiping at his eye, Gannicus struggles to stand up, turning to Duro. “That is hilarious. Fuck. You really had me going.” 

“It is not!” Crossing his arms tightly over his chest, Duro brings himself up, glares across the garage. “It was fucking traumatizing. He kept just going on about how it was a wasted opportunity. How we should just fucking go for it.”

“Wait…are you serious?” Sobering, Gannicus actually takes steps towards Duro, sliding easily into his side. “Nemetes, drunk and sloppy Nemetes, tried to hook up with you right after the hospital? That’s a bit of bad timing if you ask me.” 

“Yes!” Duro’s voice caries high and urgent over the quiet garage. “And not like, a quick reach around. He kept going on and on about how big the bed was and how many toys were probably in the bedside table. Graphically. With lots of implications.”

At that, Nasir makes a startled noise, nearly slipping off the stool in the way his whole body jolts. His mind is a rapid fire list of everything in each of their bedside drawers, from the explicit to the more common, and the whole list of weapons. He can only imagine the horror of Duro’s face if he had actually gone through with it. 

“I know!” Duro grimaces in response to Nasir. “Like, yeah, it’s such a turn on to take a fucking dildo up your ass that was clearly used on your brother’s boyfriend. Real familial bonding. Thanksgiving would be so much better.”

“I’m going to throw up.” Nasir mutters, pushes his hand over his mouth. “Holy shit.”

“He actually said that?” Gannicus asks, mouth dropped in horror. “Those words?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘I’m sure they have fun shit in there’.” Duro points his finger into the back of his throat. “I could have honestly died. And he wasn’t even coy about it. It was like he was ready to fucking whip his dick out right there.” 

“So, let me get this straight.” Grimacing and squinting at the same time, Gannicus shakes his head a little. “Nemetes is at the hospital, clearly knows what happened, and goes to the house with you. Drinks your brother’s beer. Then proceeds to try and sleep with you, on said brother’s bed, with said brother’s sex toys?”

“Please stop talking about it.” Nasir mutters, rolling his eyes up to look at the ceiling. “You don’t even know if there were toys.”

Gannicus and Duro only have to share a quick glance before pinning the knowing stare at Nasir. There is no way either of them will ever be bold enough to snoop in Agron and Nasir’s bedroom. 

“ _Anyways_ ,” Gannicus drawls, turns his attention back to Duro. “What did you say?”

“I said no!” Duro cries, throwing his hands up. “What the fuck did you think I said? He was backing me up to the bed and I was like ‘yeah no.’ and then he just like kept asking. It was so embarrassing.”

“Thank you for not fucking on my bed.” Nasir doesn’t know what else to say, still trying to wrap his head around it. 

“I mean come on,” Gannicus sends him a look, pursed lips. “It’s basically your marriage bed.”

“It was fucking horrible. Like, I had blood on me too. Seeing Nasir like that, Jesus fuck. And I had just watched my brother lose his fucking mind.” Duro deflates with each word, leaning into Gannicus’ arm around his back. “And Nemetes was just…so unapologetically unaware. Like, just not bothered at all. He was almost chill.”

“He doesn’t give a fuck about me.” Nasir shrugs, slips down from the stool. “Why would he?” 

“Nasir-“ Duro tries to interject, but Nasir just shrugs it off. 

“I’m not upset. I’m just saying. Nemetes and I have barely ever had a conversation that wasn’t small talk in like the five years I’ve known him.” Leaning back into the engine, Nasir grips his palm down tight on the handle of the wrench. His knuckles have turned a violent purple now, already with blood just under the skin. “He probably just saw an opportunity and went for it. I mean, weren’t you and Auctus freshly broken up?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Duro doesn’t seem to believe it. “But it was just really fucking weird.” 

“He’s a creep. A creepy little, horny man.” Gannicus jokes easily, grinning as he kisses Duro’s cheek. “Who could possibly resist you?” 

“You’re only saying that cause your dick drunk.” Duro pushes playfully at his shoulder, only to have Gannicus turn more into him, slipping between his legs. 

“Good thing I’m an alcoholic.” Gannicus tries to keep his voice down, growling the words basically into Duro’s neck, but Nasir can still hear him. They’re barely six feet away.

“If you’re going to fuck, get out of my shop.” Nasir doesn’t even bother looking up, turns the wrench with one hand as he feeds the rubber belt out of the fan with the other. 

This time, Duro and Gannicus seem to be having a very quiet conversation with a lot of wet sounds and fabric moving. Nasir makes a point to keep his gaze very fixed on what he’s doing, ignores the way his face feels hot, shoulders bunching at the feathery, brittle moan that slips out of Duro’s mouth. He knows it’s technically pay back. How many times had Duro been an unwilling audience to him and Agron? Still, it doesn’t make it any better. 

“If we head out, are you going to be okay?” Gannicus asks suddenly, voice a little rough. 

“I’m not going to be okay if you guys stay.” Nasir answers, glances over his shoulder only to regret it as he watches Duro working a mark into Gannicus’ throat. “Seriously. Get out. I’m not willing to be blind.”

“Okay. Okay!” 

Gannicus is laughing loud and breathless as he tugs on Duro, gets him down off the table with a considerable wince. They both give their pleasantries to Nasir as they pass, gently pats on the back and words of love and goodbye. Nasir watches them go over the edge of his arm, watches them disappear over to where Gannicus usually parks his van, half hidden behind a few junked cars on the lot. 

Nasir knows it’s a coping mechanism for both of them. That it really isn’t a good idea for either of them. But like Gannicus said, it’s their choice, and honestly, Nasir has more shit to worry about. 

\- - -

There isn’t a lot of space between the back wall of the Nickle and the market next door, but if you’re willing to be cramped, there is a small alcove just left of the dumpster. Nemetes has taken up residency there, a cigarette in his mouth and phone in hand. His fifteen minute break was over ten minutes ago, but Agron is so fucking focused on shit in the office, it’s unlikely he’ll even notice. 

He’s just lit the tip of his smoke, the tip giving a bleary little trail of smoke, when the backdoor is suddenly slamming open. Donar doesn’t see him at first, heaving a large trash bag behind him. It’s not until it’s flown into the dumpster, banging loudly, that he startles – then glares. There is no good blood between the two of them – very opposite in their opinions – but maybe not so much in their loyalty. 

“What’s with the sour face?” Nemetes asks, holding the filter between his teeth. “Mr. Giesler not paying you in quick flashes of his happy trail?”

“Fuck off.” Donar mutters, flips him the bird. He’s about to turn back into the building when Nemetes lurches forward. 

“You know, there are options, Donar.”

“Options?” Donar turns slowly on his heel. 

“Things happen.” Nemetes replies, vague with a heavy fist. “Terrible things happen to people. All the time. With little push. Little plans.”

It’s not that hard to snap the pieces together, to see the big picture. Donar finds himself with widening eyes, turning completely away from the door and leveling Nemetes with a look. It’s not a secret that Nemetes is a self-serving leech. He clings to whomever gives him the attention. For a long time, he’s been thrown in with the German side of the Rebels. His parents were acquaintances with Agron’s, not really friends, but ran in the same circles. It would make sense that Nemetes would have the same sort of skewed sense of purpose and importance. 

“I don’t know what _shit_ you’re trying to pull.” Donar steps forward quickly, wraps a fist into the collar of Nemetes shirt, slams him back into the stones behind him. His cigarette drops, rolls slowly in an arch on the cold concrete. 

“Hey!” Nemetes tries to shout but Donar yanks him forward, slams him back again. 

“Shut up.” Snarling in his face, Donar leans in close so each of his words can be clearly heard. “I don’t know what shit you’re trying to pull, you sniveling little fuck, but if you touch one hair on his head, I will make sure they can’t even use your dental records to identify your fucking corpse.“

“I wasn’t talking about Agron!” Nemetes tries to defend, hands up. “I was talking about-“

“I know.” Donar twists his fist hard, digs his knuckles into Nemetes’ throat. 

“You don’t even like him.” Nemetes chokes out, hands scrambling on Donar’s wrist. “I’m trying to help.” 

Donar doesn’t bother responding, lets the warning rest tight against Nemetes’ esophagus. The moment drags out, Nemetes’ eyes bulging, his mouth left open in a strangled gasp. Donar seems to want to keep going, but with a sharp growl in Nemetes face, he yanks himself away. The movement drops Nemetes back to his feet, half bent over and coughing, retching violently. 

“You’ll fucking regret this!” He manages to choke out, only to be met with the sharp bang of the backdoor closing.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a looong chapter. And I'm not really sure how I feel about it. 
> 
> I hope that it's still a good fic and that people like it. I hope that it's a little higher grade fic than what I usually write. Hope it was worth the wait.

There is a tiny shower stall shoved in the far back corner of the garage's bathroom, a pale yellow curtain keeping it mostly sectioned off from the drooping sink. Nasir uses it to scrub the grease off, try and work the sweat out of his hair. It's a combination of Dawn dish soap and a bar of African Black, not the most appealing scent. It leaves his skin pink, raw around the edges from being too dry and having to scrub with his nails, but when Nasir slips on an over-sized sweater and jeans, he at least feels clean. 

He's just locking up the front door when the Lincoln pulls into the end of the street. Nasir watches it roll down the block, its tinted windows reflecting the chain link fence, the piles of scrap metal. No one is around to watch it, the tires scraping on the gravel, rolling to a stop parallel where Nasir is standing. His palms are sweaty as he turns around to face it - catches his reflection in the shining metal, sees the way his brow is turned sharply into a furrow. This was his idea, his call, but Nasir feels sick with it, lip between his teeth as the backdoor swings open. 

It's warmer in the car than it is outside, a relief from the sharp October breeze he sinks into the seat, denim sliding over leather. Through the patrician, Nasir can barely make out the profile of the driver but it’s enough to be recognizable - the familiar set of shoulders under a gray t-shirt, the sloped nose, the short hair. He only has a moment for it to sink in, pitiful and sharp, before the voice next to him is interrupting. 

“He can’t hear us through the glass.” 

“But he knows who he just picked up. And that it’s important that I’m alone.” Nasir stares at his bruised hand, his knuckles looking swollen and tender. This was a bad idea. He should have waited. Should have thought more about it. “I don’t want this to come back around and be spat out during an argument.”

“He’s not going to say anything.” Reaching out, cool finger brush over Nasir’s wrist, lingering on his forearm. “This is between us. He knows the importance of that.”

Nasir sinks back into the seat as the car pulls away, slipping silently through the neighborhood. If they were to roll the windows down, they’d be able to say hello to more than half of the people on the street. Everyone knows everyone around here, or at least knows who you belong to. Nasir can barely walk to the corner store without getting it - the glances, the whispers, the respectful dropping of a head in a short bow. It used to bother him, _confuse him_. Nasir has never felt important in his life, at least not enough to be known. And yet, it's like a label constantly lingering above him - a sign that shows who he is, who he's supposed to be, who he belongs to. 

If the people on the street know who is in the nice car riding just at the speed limit, and of course they know, they don’t make any scene about it, just glance away with carefully shielded eyes. 

They're nearly to the highway, speeding towards the outer strip, when the hand on Nasir's arm shifts, slides off and reaches for the water bottle wedged on the floorboard. It's so silent that Nasir can hear the squeak of plastic between fingertips, his heart racing even before the words come. 

“We have a full tank. I'll make him drive for as long as it takes for you to tell me." 

Staring at his hands again, Nasir rubs his thumb over the diamond in the center of Agron's class ring. He's been wearing it on his right middle finger for nearly six years now, six years since that night in that abandoned house. Six years since Nasir had looked up at Agron, overwhelmed and thrumming, and had listened to those words. Had been convinced in that moment that it was fate, that there was nothing but the divine to blame for how full of love his heart was. Nasir holds onto that feeling now, remembers the gentlest kiss pressed to his forehead, the sweat cooling on his skin, wrapped up and safe and in love with Agron. 

It’s all that matters. 

“Of all the things you’ve asked of me, over the years, I have never told you no. I have done all of it. Done it _for you_. For us. For our survival. Our happiness.” Nasir digs his nail into the skin just below the ring, watches the thin skin there turn white. “I have broken laws for you. Stolen for you. Killed for you. And never asked for anything in return.”

“You have.” It’s the simple answer. The honest truth. 

“What is happening with the Pirates. You already know what the plan is, don’t you? You know I have to get into that club. I have to set up the equipment in a way that they won’t know. And they won’t know to look.” Nasir continues, anxiety twisting and snarling over his back. It makes him want to curl further in on himself, bring his knees up to his chest, defensive, but he forces himself to sit straight, back against the seat. 

“Mhm.” The sound is barely there, a hum really, and Nasir’s throat suddenly constricts. 

He knows he shouldn’t. Suddenly. Like a sharp stab to his chest. But what else can he do? Nasir turns on the seat, so close his knee bumps into the other edge, rests against a warm thigh. He stops short of reaching out, his hands clasped together, fingers over his ruined knuckles. 

“Then you know he can’t be part of it. He can’t. Give him something else. Send him away on some other mission.” 

“Nasir.” Spartacus starts in warning, turns those tired green eyes towards him. 

“No, listen. He has to listen to you. He’ll _only_ listen to you.” Nasir tries again, voice slipping on the words. He can feel the tension coiling in his chest, choking him out, making his pitch crackle as he goes on. “Fuck, Spartacus, he’s your fucking guard dog. He’s your beast on a chain. You can pull the leash. You know he’ll do what you say. You can command him and then-”

“Not when it comes to you.” Spartacus’ words cut, final and sharp. “You know I have no say when it’s you.” 

“You do. Of course, you do. You’re first. You’re always first.” Nasir forces his tongue against the back of his teeth, curses himself for the way his eyes are getting wet. He told himself that he wouldn’t get this upset, but he had thought – had hoped that this wouldn’t be so fucking hard. “Spartacus, I can’t do this with him again.”

"I know things have been hard for you. For both of you. This life isn't a kind one. It never has been." Shifting slightly, Spartacus levels Nasir with a knowing stare. "But this isn't as easy as you're making it sound. What we’re planning is bigger than just us, bigger than you and Agron. It’s imperative that it goes off seamlessly."

"It is. It is easy. You can tell him no." Nasir tries again, earnest and beseeching. "Spartacus, please. Send him out of town. Make him go run a shipment up north with Gannicus or send him to Delphi again or I don't know. Tell him he can't do this. Tell him he's off the mission. Let me do this by myself. I’ll do it for you. I’ve never let you down before."

“Nasir.” Spartacus tries again, pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks fucking exhausted so it hurts when Nasir rolls his shoulders back, spits out vicious words. 

“Then I won't do it. I fucking quit. You can find another tech wiz to do your bullshit. I'm done."

The car falls silent, just the gentle whirl of tires on the highway. They haven't exited yet, passed the off-ramp for the mall and industrial parks. They're headed out of town now, the sun a blur on the horizon. Spartacus slowly unhooks his fingers from his face, slides his palms down until he can rest them on his knees. He’s wearing a charcoal suit, white shirt, so his shoulders look broad and powerful when he rolls them back, the buttons at his neck fanned open to expose his collarbone. It's like a switch has flipped, his face slowly morphing into a tight lipped stare, eyes squinting a little and the bottom of Nasir's stomach drops out. 

"Are you threatening me?"

"I-" Nasir can feel it, the sinking, horrible realization of it. 

He's known Spartacus since fucking high school, since puberty was still rough and rounding them out. Have been a family for so long. Celebrated birthdays, Christmases, summer barbeques. But Nasir knows, in this moment, who he's sitting in the car with. Spartacus is a kingpin, a gang lord, a fucking criminal mastermind. He’s the most influential and powerful person beside Crassus himself, hell, probably more than Crassus at this point. Spartacus could, with a single command to Crixus in the front seat, have Nasir's body dropped in the river. He could put a bullet between his eyes and get away with it. And Nasir _knows_ , better than anyone, who Spartacus' favorite enforcer is. 

"I just-" Nasir tries again, tries to get his throat clear enough. But it won’t come. 

He wonders distantly, doesn't want to fully form the thought, if Spartacus would do that. Would he ask Agron to do it, _make_ Agron do it? And how? Something quick and painless on the side of the road, like a bat to the head.? Or would it be vicious, cruel, something like hands around his throat in their bed? Would Agron be able to look him in the eye when he did it?

The silence stretches in all directions. Nasir is shaking, his hands in his lap twisting around one another, unable to tear his eyes away from Spartacus’ unrelenting stare. He doesn’t even flinch when Nasir draws in a wet breath, a gasp hinging close on a sob. It’s not like Nasir hasn’t seen Spartacus in action. He’s seen the aftermath of his hands, of his weapons, of his rage. He’s just never realized, so acutely, who he is sharing a backseat with. 

“I will do what is best for the entirety of our gang.” Spartacus says slowly, each word enunciated so they land like a soft blow against Nasir’s rapidly beating heart. “It has always been my top priority.” 

“Of course.” Nasir drops his head, stares at the scuffed denim on his knees. 

“Nasir.” Spartacus reaches out a hand, hooks his fingers under Nasir’s chin, brings his face up again. 

“Please.” Nasir’s bottom lip trembles around the word, supplicating and begging. 

He knows, has to know, that Spartacus wouldn’t do it. But he could. He could do it. And what would Nasir even be able to stop him? Agron is who he is. He belongs to Spartacus. They’ve always known this. And Nasir supposes, really, that if anyone was going to do it, he’d want it to be Agron. And maybe that’s toxic and a little insane but sometimes Nasir feels like he’s in so deep, he’d let Agron drink his last breath from his lungs. 

“You need to talk to him about this. I can’t just keep bouncing between the two of you.” It softens Spartacus’ face, retracting those deadly fangs. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know.” The tears come this time, quick and hot, spilling over his cheeks and onto Spartacus’ hand. “I feel like it’s all falling apart.

Spartacus shifts a little, hooks his hand around the back of Nasir’s neck, pulls him in. Nasir tries to resist, doesn’t want to get his face all over Spartacus’ silk shirt, but it’s no use. He collapses against Spartacus’ side, buries his cheek against his collarbone, and lets go. The crying isn’t pretty, isn’t contained to soft little sniffles, something demure or easily dismissed. Nasir sobs, his arm wrapping tight around Spartacus’ waist, curled up with his sneakers on the seat. 

It’s the type of crying that strips Nasir bare, makes even the skin between his fingers feel raw. And how long as he held onto this? How long has he swallowed it all away? Nasir closes his eyes and he can see Agron, those perfect green eyes, all frantic and furious. The sound of his voice in the dark. The way he had been shaking while they were holding each other last night. And Nasir had only been able to cling tighter, to try and sooth the deepest wounds.

“It’ll be okay, Nasir. It’s just hard right now.” Spartacus brushes his fingers through Nasir’s damp hair, rests his cheek on top of his head. “You guys will figure it out. You always figure it out. Just make a mess of it first.” 

“What if we don’t?” Nasir chokes on the words, his nose dragging cold against Spartacus’ neck. “What if it’s all going to shit? Spartacus, I’m so fucking scared.” 

“Shh, hey, it’s alright.” Spartacus doesn’t push him back, only reaches over into the side compartment and pulls a few tissues from the box there. “Take a breath.”

“I used to think we were soulmates. Real fate shit. Formed in the hands of the universe for one another.” Nasir confesses, brittle and soft. “But sometimes, I feel like all we do is hurt each other. Like, he can’t stop blaming himself for everything. And I can’t see it from his perspective. And it’s all fucked up and confusing but-“

“But what?” Spartacus asks, leans back enough to brush his thumb over Nasir’s cheek, tries to meet his streaming eyes. 

“But it feels so good.” Nasir’s eyelashes are wet, flutter against his cheeks when he says it. “He always feels _so good_. And it just makes it harder, to separate the hurt from love. To remember all the ways things are going wrong when we feel so right.”

“But are you just using sex to cope?” Spartacus asks, tries not to flush at the way Nasir’s voice had dipped, nearly purred. “I’m sure it’s easy to just cover up all the fighting with, um, fucking. But you can’t build a foundation on that, Nasir. You can’t work through things when you’re preoccupied.” 

“I know that.” Wiping his hand across his cheek, Nasir sighs a little, looking pretty and sad and resigned. “But it’s easy, ya know? It’s easy because I know what I’m doing then. I know we’re on the same wavelength, same mental space. We’ve been together so long it feels like second nature, to know what the other one needs. And then when we talk, it all goes to shit. Like, why can’t we just read it off each other’s bodies? It would be so much easier.” 

“Have you told him any of this?” Spartacus tries. He thinks about last night, about the way Agron had lashed out, had been furious and desperate and growling. They’re burning both ends of this candle. 

“We talked. I thought we had an understanding. But then…last night happened.” Nasir shrugs his shoulder helplessly. “It just was a lot, ya know? And then, everything that followed. I wasn’t in a good head space, and instead of recognizing it for what it was, Agron just blames himself.” 

“He thinks you joined because of him.” Spartacus sighs, knows this story already. 

“I’ve told him otherwise. Many times.” Nasir rolls his eyes. “I would have joined regardless. The fact that I was after his dick was just a bonus.”

“What?” Spartacus chokes a little, eyes going wide. He’s not a prude. He really isn’t. It’s just…a lot sometimes. 

“Oh, come on. You know I was like, definitely following you for the morals and ethics. Believing in the cause. But come on, I can’t be blamed. That summer between Junior and Senior year when he got that construction job? And like, spent the entirety of July in those dirty tank tops?” Nasir shrugs, some of that rueful humor peaking through his tears. “You noticed too.” 

“Nasir. I am a straight, happily married man.” Spartacus sputters, pulling his hands back from where they were comfortably wrapped around Nasir’s waist. 

“So?” Nasir shrugs a little, seemingly unbothered, as he wipes a little at his left eye. “All I’m saying is that you aren’t blind. None of us were.” 

Spartacus resists the urge to roll his eyes and instead, focuses on scanning over Nasir. He looks fucking exhausted, dark eyes bruised from the tears and from rubbing at them, shoulders slumped in a sad line. He has a kiss bruise just below his left ear, a gnarly looking mark that is half smeared into his hairline, bruised crimson on the edges. Spartacus doesn’t want to think about how it got there, knows that just two inches behind it, his Rebel tattoo starts. 

And maybe that’s metaphorical, in a sense. Because there is parts of them that are evident – criminals, gang members, bruisers really. But there is also a part of them that are friends, are people just trying to get by in a world that has never cut them any slack. It’s the way Nasir is picking at his jeans, his nose running, tissues balled up in his fist. Spartacus has to remember, vividly, that Nasir is still so young. They all are. All playing these roles that have such devastating lasting effects. 

“You know.” Spartacus starts, has to do it gently, has to reach out and touch Nasir again, a few fingers over the back of his hand. “If it were over, it would be okay.” 

“What?” Nasir raises his head sharply. There is a desperate little tilt to his mouth, almost like if he speaks again, Spartacus won’t say anything. 

“If you two were over, it would be hard. Of course, it would be. But you could survive. It’d be okay. Eventually.” Spartacus explains, nudges his knuckle against Nasir’s jaw to brush away a tear. He looks bewildered by the touch, eyes going wide. 

“No.” Nasir says simply, so very clear. “No, it wouldn’t.”

“You’re both strong. It would take time, but you could move on and-” Spartacus goes to explain only for Nasir to give a heart wrenching noise, a whimper in the back of his throat. 

“If I stop believing in us, then I stop believing in everything.” Nasir flinches hard, shaking his head. “What will it all have been for if it tears us apart?”

Spartacus sighs, leans into his seat. Outside, the buildings are rising back up. Crixus must have turned them around, headed back towards the shop. He hasn’t once tried to roll down the window, hasn’t tried to eaves drop even though he knows who is in the backseat. The car is basically sound proof back here, no one to know all the secrets suddenly spilling out of Nasir. 

“I wake up every morning knowing who I am because of who wakes up beside me. Knowing that we have had a lasting effect on one another. We’ve grown together. We’ve fought together. Loved more deeply than I think we even understand.” Nasir draws in a shuddering breath. “We weren’t just made for each other. _We made one another._ Made our soulmate by giving part of our soul to them.”

“I only meant that you would be strong enough to be okay.” Spartacus knows the words are a lie even as he says them. 

“If I lost him, I’d never be okay again.” 

Nasir turns away then, slips back to his side of the seat, looks out the window. It’s all silent tension again, just the sound of breathing. He knows he’s said too much, been on a fucking rollercoaster of emotional shit that he should have kept to himself. It leaves Nasir feel raw, bruised open and festering, with all of it just there. But it’s not like Nasir had anyone else to go to. Who else would listen? Who else has the power to fix any of this? 

They had stayed in bed this morning. Hadn’t gotten up with the alarms, just let the sunlight in through the blinds, turned on music to drown out the sound of the neighborhood. Nasir had been nearly intoxicated with it, the feeling of Agron’s skin on his, unable to do anything but reach and touch and taste one another. Riding him with Agron’s hands all over his back, his waist, his thighs – breathing each other in. It had almost felt like redemption, atonement, for last night. A washed clean in each other, in the sun, in the sweat and fever of it all.

But it hadn’t changed anything, really. 

If it had, Nasir wouldn’t be sitting in the back of Spartacus’ car begging him to fix it. 

“I can’t take him off of the mission.” Spartacus sighs, relents just a little when Nasir’s eyes fall shut. “But, I’m going to let you lead it. You call the shots. You pick your team.”

“So, you’re making me do it.” Nasir barely keeps the scoff out of his voice, digs his hands back into his knees. “And how well do you think that is going to go over?”

“Better than me telling him to leave his boyfriend alone while he goes and plays nice with Romans.” Spartacus’ tone is knowing and sharp. 

“But-“ Nasir tries to protest, already seeing how this conversation is going to go, but Spartacus turns those hard eyes on him again. 

“Figure it out, Nasir. Either you talk to him and come to an understanding, or you play games. Either way, we’re moving forward with the plan. And I expect your focus to be on it, not something else.”

Nasir’s face is burning, eyes full of angry tears as he watches the scenery outside of the window. He doesn’t know who he’s more angry with – Spartacus or himself. Or maybe everything. Maybe it’s the whole situation, fucking stuck between doing what feels right and what actually is. He doesn’t know how to get Agron to feel better, to see himself better. Nasir only knows it’s important. Because one day, Agron is going to tear himself apart and Nasir isn’t sure he’ll be able to piece him back together. 

But Spartacus has made his decision and there is nothing Nasir can do. 

\- - - 

The living room is hazy with smoke, hangs thick and coiling, even with the open kitchen window. There is at least two grand of weed poured out in little baggies on the table, a few spare tabs of Adderall and Xanax tossed in just because. They're left over from the run Lugo did around noon, the stacks of cash hidden in the safe under the stairs, kept until Gannicus came come by. It’s not a real party or anything, just half a dozen guys crowded around a big screen, yelling at one another. 

It had been a natural progression from the shift at the bar to the house. Agron hadn't even yelled when Nemetes had grabbed the six pack from behind the bar, just rolled his eyes and flipped him off. He had just wanted to be surrounded by people, _distracted_ by the noise and the heat of other bodies. Agron finds comfort in it, the slurred German and bad jokes. It feels nostalgic, just with a few more beards and actual adult voices to go around.

They're playing FIFA, the roar of the crowd nearly deafening in the small living room. Agron had been trying to follow Manchester on the screen, squinting a little in the haze, but his eyes keep drifting over to the kitchen. Duro has been perched on the counter top, phone in hand, for nearly the last half an hour. He had been uncharacteristically quiet when he had shown up and saw the state of the house, a little furrow between his eyebrows, waving off Lugo's offered hit. 

Climbing to his feet, Agron leaves his throne and walks behind the couch, through the dining room. He knows something is going on, something he's not privy too. It had started when Duro was staying here, all those whispers and side eyes with Nasir. Agron had pried. They're allowed to have their friendship outside of him, allowed to be private and secretive. But at the end of the day, Agron is still Duro's older brother. 

"You're eating toast?" Is Agron's great opening line, even more surprised to see that cup of herbal tea at Duro's hip. Maybe Nasir had a bigger effect on him than Agron knew. 

"I was hungry." Duro drawls, doesn't look up from his scrolling. He's getting crumbs all over his joggers. “And you’re drunk.”

"Barely. And we have food." Agron makes a vague gesture towards the fridge, then thinking about it, he goes to get himself a beer. 

"Yeah, but you know how Nasir is." Duro chews loudly. "He gets mad if you eat something he was gonna make."

"I think he only got mad because you ate an entire turkey." Agron smirks, uses the lighter in his pocket to flip the lid off his drink, watching it clatter on the counter. 

"It wasn’t just me. It was me and Lugo. And Gannicus, cause you know none of us knew how to cook it." Duro finally sets his phone down, leveling Agron with a small smile. 

"I remember." Agron leans in close, his hip against Duro's thigh. They’ve been at the house for a few hours now, and Agron feels warm with the beer and the contact high, but he’s not so far gone that he doesn’t notice when Duro is being himself. He waits it out a few minutes, listens to Duro munching, before he lets out a long sigh, rolling his head back to give Duro his best 'older brother' stare. 

“What?” Duro doesn’t look impressed, sinking his teeth back into his toast. 

"You gonna tell me?" Agron doesn’t relent, says the question softly. 

"No." Duro's grin is wide, a little desperate, like he's hoping Agron won't pry. "I'm fine." 

“Is it someone here? Are you mad at Donar now too?” Agron asks, glances over into the living room. It’s just Lugo, Donar, Nemetes, Totus, and Sedullus. Not all of the normal gang, but some. 

“Nah. Though, I’m surprised he’s here.” Duro raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, just drops his head again.

“He followed us over. I didn’t ask him.” Agron mutters the truth. “What am I supposed to say to him? He’s been friends with us since fucking grade school.”

“I dunno.” Duro shrugs a little, half heartedly brushing the crumbs on his pants off onto the floor. “Maybe get over it? It’s been like, ten years. Obviously it’s not gonna happen.” 

“Okay what is going on?” Agron turns his attention to him again, leans in close so he can murmur over the sound of music from the television. “Spill.”

“I’m really good.” Duro gives a lopsided grin, dead around the eyes. “Seriously.” 

"You're drinking tea. And eating toast. At eight at night." Agron makes a pointed sweep from the mug to the edge of bread in Duro's hand. "On a Monday."

"I'm a man of culture." Duro sniffs derisively. "Besides, Nasir says herbal tea is good for you. Opens your sinuses. Heals your innards."

"I doubt he used that word but _okay_." Agron takes a long pull of his own beer, rolls his eyes a little. He could go for a shot of something warm, maybe the good whiskey hidden above the fridge, but he knows if he starts then he won’t be sober enough for this conversation. And it’s something he needs to do, has been building for a while. 

Swinging his legs, Duro's bare feet gently tap against the counter. Agron remembers this, a memory of them as children, Duro perched next to Agron as they made dinner. It was all simple shit, Kraft or Ramen or Chef Boyardee if one of them had made it down to the corner store. Duro trying to do his math homework while Agron had tried to act like a tutor and a father and a brother all at the same time. 

"Whatever it is, I'll do whatever you need." Agron murmurs, leans fully into Duro's side, their shoulders to hip lining up. "Tell me and I'll make it better." 

"You can't fix everything, Ags." Duro gives him a small, bitter smile. "Sometimes, it's bigger than just us." 

"Let me try." Agron urges, reaches up a hand to brush the curls at Duro's temple. Sometimes, he feels like his heart is so full of love for his little brother, it'll spill over. He's loved him the longest. Loved him separate and special just for them. 

"So you can blame yourself for it?" Duro asks, turns his head, stares at Agron out of the corner of his eye. 

"I'm not-" Agron starts but Duro scoffs a little. 

"Your coping mechanism is hating yourself. You're like one of those Catholic priests, constantly whipping up your back. Acting like it'll make you feel better, some fucking atonement. Mental self harm." Duro leans into Agron's touch, whispering together even as the house around them rocks with noise. "And no matter how many band-aids and kisses and prayers Nasir and I give you, nothing stops you. So, why would I ever add my own shit to the stack of things you do to yourself?"

"I don't remember asking for the psycho analysis, Freud." Agron sniffs roughly, reaches on the other side of Duro to grab his smokes. 

"You don't get to ask. I'm giving it to you." Duro reaches out, takes the cigarettes out of his hand and pulls two out for them. He lights them together, his lips curved around the filters. 

"It is what it is." Agron shrugs, takes the offered Marlboro. Nasir is going to be livid that they're smoking with only one window open, so Agron reaches over and yanks the one above the kitchen sink up. 

"Maybe. Or maybe it's not." Duro shrugs a little, takes up his tea cup. "Maybe you need to figure out a way to stop. Because I'm lookin' at you man, and I'm not sure who I'm seeing anymore."

"Duro." 

Agron takes in a long pull, lets the nicotine settle in his lungs. He's never been a big smoker, maybe a little weed with the guys, but now it feels like he's always reaching for it. Always looking for something to numb just a little, blur the edges of everything. 

"What the fuck is going on with you and Nasir?" Duro cuts in, his cup clattering on the counter. "If you're not gonna think about yourself, are you thinking about him?" 

"I'm always thinking about him." Agron snaps. This isn't the setting for this conversation. He needs about a fifth of whiskey and somewhere dark, away from the fluorescent light above the kitchen sink. 

"Are you though? Cause I barely recognize him now too." Duro reaches out, hooks a hand on Agron's shoulder, tugs hard. "Since when does Nasir fucking jump when someone makes a joke about you? Since when does he go around looking like he's one slow breath away from crying? He hasn't been to the Nickle in weeks."

"He got hurt and-" Agron tries to start, caught off guard by Duro's rough scoff. 

"Yeah. He got hurt. It was terrible. And completely out of our control." Duro says the words pointedly. "And you threw a fit and called him your husband. But I don't see a ring? All I see if you guys circling around the elephant in the fucking room. It’s exhausting to watch."

"There is no elephant in the room. Marriage is a big step. He's not ready for that." Agron dismisses. Tired of hearing this conversation, tired of fighting. "We're happy. It’s none of your business either."

"You're full of so much bullshit how can you possibly see." Duro snaps, disgust dripping. "You keep saying that like it's not obvious."

"You don't know-" Agron tries to interject, raising his hand, but Duro's nails dig into his shoulder. In the living room, Donar turns on the couch to stare at them, probably hearing Duro’s voice over the video game. 

"If you marry him, then you're afraid he won't leave. And you want him to. To prove you right. To give yourself more ammo. Always fucking pushing him away to pull him back." Duro leans in close, his accent thickening with his anger. He doesn't hold back, and Agron thinks he probably needs to hear this, as much as it hurts. "You're such a shithead."

"I-" Agron is desperately trying to think of something to say, anger twisting hard in his chest. “That’s not fucking fair. You don’t know everything, Duro. You don’t know every conversation we’ve had. You’re just assuming.”

“I know enough.” He pokes a finger into Agron’s chest, some of the ash from his cigarette spilling on to his t-shirt. “I know you. I know the way your fucking brain works.” 

“Sometimes self-preservation fucking sucks.” Agron snarls, shows Duro his teeth. “Sometimes you have to make hard choices for people, even when they don’t want you to.” 

Duro’s eyes widen, his hand curling in the fabric of Agron’s shirt. For a terrible moment, Agron is sure that Duro is going to punch him. They haven’t wrestled, or even fought really, in so fucking long. But Duro’s face morphs into something that is scarily familiar as his own, his chin dropping in a snarl. But instead of a fist, Duro’s next words hit just as hard. 

"Stop fighting him and start fighting for him."

Duro slips on the counter, turns so he can press a knee to Agron's hip, pulls him tight against him. There is a part of Agron that thinks distantly back to little Duro, one with wild curls and eager eyes, always wanting Agron's approval and affection. This is an older Duro, all fire and spit and Agron sees himself in Duro's dark gaze - a skewed reflection of his own face. 

"You can't keep going on and on like this. I'm sick of it." Duro prods his finger into Agron's shoulder. "Where is my brother? Where are you? Because all I see is a guy caught in his own mind game and I don't know what else to do than to force you out."

The words are like blows straight to Agron's chest, so cruel in how they're so fucking honest. And Duro is right. It's everything Nasir has been whispering to him, soothing into his skin with gentle hands. But maybe what Agron needed was the sword, the knife twisting as Duro's eyes fill slightly with tears. He looks so fucking earnest, so desperate for Agron to understand. 

Agron and Nasir are a team. A unit. A fucking power couple. Agron knows this. Knows how _fucking good_ they are together. It's brains and brawn. They're a force to be reckoned with and maybe instead of Agron trying to shield Nasir away from all of it, maybe he should fucking start letting him stand on his own, Agron with him. Together. 

“I want to be better.” Agron mutters, rubs a hand against his nose before taking a drag of his cigarette. “I don’t want to do this forever. I’m so fucking tired of it.”

“Then stop.” Duro leans in, nudges his forehead against Agron’s. “For your sake. For his.” 

It's like he summoned him into existence. One moment, Agron is ducking his head in a nod towards Duro's, and the next a chorus of voices break in the living room. Lugo is loudest of all, shouting an excited 'Schatzi!' just as Nasir pauses in the doorway. He doesn’t look mad exactly, just furrowing a little between his eyebrows, reaching up to grab the banister, kicking off his sneakers. 

Agron lets his brain soak it all up, the way his sweater is hanging down past his hands, skinny jeans hugging his thighs, looking long and perfect. His brain gets a little caught up in the fact that Nasir's hair is down, all the way down, a little tousled around his shoulders. Agron so rarely gets to see it like this outside of their bedroom, usually tied up and away from his face. He wants to bury his nose just behind Nasir's ear, breathe him in, sink into him. 

"Hey. No, thank you." Nasir lets out a short laugh at Lugo's offered wave of the bong on the table, saying something low that Agron can't make out, watching Nasir move through the house. 

It's a well-known fact around the neighborhood - the two of them. Nasir never seems to realize who he is to these people, looks confused when people move out of their way on the street, duck their heads in respect when they pass. The whole street, from the French Quarter to the Irish Square know it, stare and whisper but ultimately _know_. But if Agron is the king of this place, then Nasir is his queen. 

“Hey baby.” Agron greets, pulls himself away from Duro’s sharp fingers and instead wraps his arms around Nasir, pulls him tight. It’s everything he needs right now, down to the way Nasir doesn’t have to go up on his toes like he does with everyone else. Instead, he just tucks right into the space just for him.

Agron can’t help it, he buries his face in the curve of Nasir’s neck, finds that spot where the arches of his nose nestles perfect against his pulse. His skin is damp, freezing here, and Agron inhales slow, tries to overload his senses with it. Nasir doesn’t smell like himself, not that mint or jasmine or even the cucumber soap in the bathroom. It’s something else – something darker - _belonging to someone else_ and Agron pulls back, confused and reeling, choking out nonsense. 

“You okay?”

Nasir’s reply is muffled, his face pressed into Agron’s chest, inhaling slowly. Agron is surprised to feel that Nasir’s hair is wet, just damp against the back of his neck and on the ends. He’s also trembling, just a little, enough that Agron could dismiss it by the chill outside except for when Nasir leans back for a kiss, his eyes are red rimmed. There is something there, something flashing in his gaze as he stares up at Agron, and it takes a moment for Agron to recognize it, his stomach swooping – Nasir looks afraid. Like a sick coiling fear, enough to widen his eyes. It’s there then it’s gone, Nasir blinking rapidly like he can just push it away.

Agron doesn’t care that Donar is staring at them from the living room, that Nemetes is a vague blur in the doorway. He doesn’t give a shit that Duro is suddenly very interested in his phone again. He cups Nasir’s face between his hands, kisses right between his eyebrows. He knows he wants to say something, maybe away from everyone else, but it’s hard to steal a moment. And Agron knows it’s his fault for letting everyone come over, but sometimes people around is better than dealing with himself. 

“You’re freezing.” Agron hisses, Nasir’s fingers trailing up and down his spine, slipping under his shirt. He knows he’s alcohol warm, a little sweaty, but Nasir doesn’t pull away from it.

“Drove with the windows down.” Nasir mutters, seems not bothered as he tries to crawl into Agron’s skin. He accepts the slow kiss to his mouth, tips his head back and arches into Agron’s touch like it’s familiar. 

“It’s October.” Agron murmurs, gets his fingers into the icy strands of Nasir’s hair, moves his mouth down to his neck. It’s a simple kiss against his pulse point, just a brief press, a comfort really. He can still smell the other cologne there, like an itch in the back of Agron’s mind, like he _knows_ that scent. 

“Just needed some air.” Nasir doesn’t say it to be convincing, just fills up the space with the words. He’s letting Agron pet over him, give him small touches and kisses against cool skin, but he only keeps his hands on Agron’s waist. It’s not rejection, not really, just acceptance. He knows Agron does it to reassure himself, hand so tender when they trace down Nasir’s side, over where the ridges of his scar lay across his ribs. It’s like Agron needs to know that Nasir is corporal, living and breathing in front of him. 

“You’re shaking.” This time, Agron presses the words against Nasir’s ear, tucking his nose into his hair. He suddenly feels guilty that there are so many people over. He knows Nasir likes coming home to a quiet house, to making dinner together, chatting about their days. It’s not like Agron is adverse to it. He loves spending any time he can with Nasir. It’s just easier when the house is full to not think about any of the other shit – like Romans or gang wars.

Nasir doesn’t come up with a response, pulls back enough to give Agron another kiss before disentangling himself entirely. There is a small, unhappy tilt to his mouth, and he glances behind, sees the guys in the living room staring at them. They’re quick to turn away, become interested in their phones or the television or the fucking ceiling. Agron can’t help rolling his eyes at them. Fucking busy bodies, the whole lot. 

“No Gannicus tonight?” Nasir asks, directing a small smirk towards Duro, who flushes all the way down to his neck. 

“No. He’s busy.” Duro mutters, flips his cigarette’s ash into his tea cup. Nasir makes a face at him and Duro ducks his head, guilty. “Sorry.”

“I’ve gotta get to work.” Nasir rolls his eyes. Whatever the conversation is, it goes over Agron’s head, who only focuses on what Nasir is actually saying. 

“Downstairs?” 

“Yeah. Gotta skype with Castus. Set up a firewall or some shit.” Nasir sighs, stretches his arms above his head in a slow arch. His sweater raises a little, enough to tease the curl of flowers on his hip, the line of his hip. Agron wants to set his hand there, to feel all the warm skin, trace his name in Nasir’s skin. 

“Baby.” Agron ignores Duro watching them, leans over and presses a kiss to Nasir’s temple. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine.” Nasir doesn’t flinch, rubbing his fingers into his left eye. “I’m good. Just need to get shit done. We have that meeting with Spartacus tomorrow.”

Before Agron can argue, point out the weary slump of Nasir’s shoulders or the distance gleam in his eye, Nemetes is suddenly stepping into the kitchen. The reaction, for lack of better word, is bad. Duro fumbles his tea cup so hard on the counter that it nearly slips off, only caught by Agron’s quick hand. Nasir is at least a little calmer, turning sharply on his heel and jabbing his thumb nail into his mouth, staring over at him with narrowed, careful eyes. 

“Hey, didn’t mean to interrupt the family meeting.” Nemetes laughs, obnoxious and drunk in the quiet room. 

“What do you need?” Agron shoots a glance between Duro and Nasir, carefully sets Duro’s mug back on the Formica. There is something there – something Agron has been left out of. 

“Was just gonna get ‘nother beer.” Nemetes waves a hand at the fridge, shuffling steps of his boots dragging on the tiles. “Didn’t want to get in the middle of the domestic.”

“We weren’t fighting.” Duro mutters, crosses his arms over his chest. Nemetes sends up a grin, something wide and leering, head cocked to the side. 

“All looked so fucking serious. You’d think someone died. We ain’t planning another murder, are we?” 

“Jesus fuck, man.” Agron rolls his eyes, resists the urge to stroke a hand down his face. He’s really not drunk enough for this, should have broken out the Jäger at least a half an hour ago. 

“Come on! Lighten up!” Nemetes tips is head back, lets out that sharp and sardonic laugh again. “It’s a party!”

All three of them watch him, stock still except for the turning of their head, as Nemetes makes his way slowly across the kitchen. He’s a fucking mess, sweat stain down the back of his shirt from work, two day scruff on his chin. How he ever managed to make it into one of the most powerful gangs in the city is a mystery in itself.

Nemetes pulls roughly on the fridge door, over zealous and drunk the magnets, coupons, and random pictures shuddering at the rough treatment. Inside, there is a carefully coordinated system for the food, something Nasir painstakingly has organized with labels and clear plastic containers. It’s a Pinterest fridge at it’s finest, everything in its rightful place. Even the condiments are color coordinated. He’s left the entire bottom shelf open though, it usually filled with precariously stacked bottles of beer – only the good stuff. Nasir doesn’t drink it, but will steal a few sips if Agron is, usually tucked into his side. 

“How are you out? You own a bar?” Nemetes hangs an arm over the top of the door, illuminated in the fridge light. “And apparently drink La Croix?” 

“I’m not the only one who lives here, asshole.” Agron rolls his eyes again, tilts his head back. He can feel Nasir shifting behind him, rocking from one foot to the other. 

“Sometimes, man, no offence, but you’re gayer than shit.” Nemetes snickers, still half slouched over to browse through the contents. “You don’t even have a stray one shoved in the back? Fucking bone dry.”

“Maybe it’s because I always have a ton of freeloading shitheads coming over.” Agron says it without much heat, rolls his eyes for the third time in ten minutes. “You know where the fucking corner store is. Go get your own.”

“Oh, come on, man. It’s late.” Nemetes actually turns all the way around, spinning a little on his heel. “Don’t you have that big freezer downstairs still? You’re holding out on me. I know you’ve got shit.” 

He only makes it a few steps to the side, hand out-stretched and fumbling for the basement door. It springs Nasir into action, who makes a chortled, broken off noise as he rushes forward, only caught by Agron’s sharp look and outstretched arm. It just lingers then, awkward and tense, with blood on Nasir’s mouth from where he ripped his thumbnail in his haste and Nemetes stares at them with wide, glassy eyes. 

“Oy, fuckface.” Lugo calls out suddenly, large body lumbering up from where he’s been sprawled on the couch. “Stop harassin’ the hosts. I’ll walk your ass out to store.”

“Are you even sober enough to make it to the end of the sidewalk?” Nemetes calls back, rolls his arm along the wall so he can see into the living room. “Just get your boy here to open up his stash!”

“Agron.” Nasir mutters tersely. He’s back to worrying his thumb again, the sleeve of his sweater bunched up across the back of his palm. 

"I know." Agron glances back, lets his fingers flex on Nasir's hip with a reassuring pat. It's a well known fact that the basement is off limits. Only Agron and Nasir are allowed down there. 

Nemetes and Lugo are full on fighting now, half in English and have in German. It's more of a slurred language, with words turning into one another as their volume rises. Sedullus, though he can barely hear over the television, leans over the side of the couch to get a stray comment in, laughing loudly at whatever he thinks is going on. He's always been an instigator, always one with a quick comment. Donar doesn't seem interested in it all, just keeps his gaze level and cool, watching. Even Duro looks like he's having a hard time following, sucking on another cigarette but making sure to ash in the sink. The whole house smells like thick smoke, foggy and dense. It's like their hot boxing the whole place. 

“I’ve gotta get to work. I’m already behind.” Nasir insists, rocking forward on his heel. He's making these quick, frantic glances towards the basement door and then back to Agron - trying to say something without moving his mouth. Thankfully, Agron is well versed in Nasir's body language, and with a long sigh, turns back to Nemetes. 

"Fuck off, ja?" Stepping around him, Agron pushes at Nemetes to get him moving, shoving him towards the living room. He doesn't really care where he lands, though he hears him muttering to himself, Nemetes crashing into the wall. 

It takes him a minute to get his fingers to work, Agron squinting at the padlock. He's had way too much beer on an empty stomach, guts rolling with it, and when he fucks up the combo for the second time, Agron finds himself glancing over at Nasir. He's busy picking at a loose thread on his sweater, the deep cranberry fabric looking soft and warm in the dull kitchen light. It strikes Agron as a little odd, really, that Nasir is actually wearing his own sweater - something actually in Nasir's size. 

And he also showered - a fact that Agron usually wouldn't really stick on but Nasir knew he was coming home, knew he would have had time to shower at the house - where his things are. That would have been the case, but judging by the clock on the microwave, Nasir is almost an hour late. Agron tries to not let his mind wander with it, milling it over - his own clothes, his wet hair left down, the weird scent of cologne at Nasir's throat. It all adds up to an uncomfortable conclusion in Agron's mind, one which he refuses to linger on.

"Do you have it?" Moving across the room, Nasir leans closer, watches Agron's hands on the lock. "Agron-"

"You showered." It pops out of Agron's mouth before he can stop himself, says it like he's commenting on the weather. And god, he really should have started with the hard liquor already. He’s not an honest drunk, more of a hands on. 

"I was greasy from the shop and didn't want to get it all over the car." Nasir gives him a strange look, reaches up to push away Agron's hands, taking over the lock.

"You don't smell like you." Agron frowns, reaches out to touch the ends of Nasir's still freezing hair. "You smell like-"

"Ags, it’s okay. You’re drunk. It was just a shower." Nasir leans in, kisses the side of Agron's wrist that's closest to his face. "I smell like the shop and the degreasing soap. It's fine. I've gotta get downstairs, yeah?"

"But-" Agron rolls his shoulders back, tries to think of a way to say it without sounding accusatory. Every red flag is signally off though, something clearly having happened. "Your hair is down."

"Babe." Nasir purses his lips up at Agron, reaching his hands up. He seems to produce a hair tie out of no where, twists the strands up into a loose bun at the top of his head. "Happy?"

"I missed you." 

This time, Agron says it softly, just for Nasir to hear. He could literally care less that Lugo and Nemetes have taken the fight to the living room, that there is more yelling going on, that Duro had slipped off the counter to go help. All he wants is to look at Nasir, to take him all in, to let him soak up all he's been missing through out the day. 

"Hey." Nasir's brow furrows as he leans in, loops his arms around Agron's neck, pressing the length of himself against Agron. "I missed you too."

Agron keeps his mouth shut, afraid he might say something that he'll regret. Instead, he leans down, kisses Nasir slow and open. It's the best type of kiss, the type that makes your fingertips spark and your chest feel tight. Agron wraps his hands around Nasir's hips, palming over where he knows his name is, focuses on that and only the feel of Nasir under him. 

"I would really like for you to take me upstairs." Nasir murmurs when he pulls back, breathes the words against Agron's mouth. "But I have to finish work."

"Don't sleep down there tonight, okay?" Agron brushes his thumb over Nasir's bottom lip. "Come to bed."

"I will." Nasir promises, vows to set an alarm incase he nods off in front of the computer downstairs again. 

They linger for just a moment longer, staring at one another, until Agron caves and presses a kiss between Nasir's eyebrows. It's a chaste thing, something that has Nasir's chest tightening with emotion. Agron is the only one and will always be the only one to kiss Nasir like this. To give him such loving, soft affection. 

With that, Agron lets him go, steps back and opens the basement door for him. Nasir ducks under his arm, foregoes the light and instead heads down the stairs in the dark, familiar enough he doesn't need to see. Agron only lingers long enough to hear him hit the cement before he slips the door shut. 

\- - - 

"No offense but you look like shit." 

Castus leans in, watches Nasir shifting around in his chair. His room is nondescript, just pale walls and some poster framed behind him, but Nasir is lit up from the computer screen and the lamp nearby. Castus can see the red bruises under Nasir’s eyes from clear across town, the downturn of his mouth. He wonders how many times this is now, that he sees Nasir fresh from crying. How can Agron fucking stand it? 

“Your sweet talk leaves something to be desired.” Nasir mutters, sending a pointed look towards the camera. He can’t get comfortable, shifting around in his sweater, tugging at it. He should have pulled on one of Agron’s hoodies from the dryer, should have changed into sweats. It’s cool in the basement, even with the heater on in the corner, but Nasir can’t fucking settle. He’s too keyed up. 

“Thought you didn’t like it when I talked sweet to you, baby.” Castus can’t help his grin, lets it spread wide over his face. “Tell me what to say and I’ll say whatever you want me to.” 

It makes Nasir stop moving, turning a glare up with his hands still fisted in his sweater, half raised up his stomach. He's half risen out of his chair so Castus can see the curve of a flower tattoo above his waistband, the beginning of his happy trail. He tries not to stare, tries to brush it off, but Castus' heart lurches at the strip of skin. 

“Watch it.”

Nasir rolls his eyes, not amused. Castus takes it for the warning it is, watches carefully as Nasir strips his sweater off. It pulls his t-shirt with it, and Castus gets a full view of Nasir’s side, the still healing scar, a stray nipple. He doesn’t comment on it, just commits it to memory. It’s not a crime to look. 

“You okay though?" Castus tries a different tactic, makes a conscious effort to look disinterested as Nasir sits back down, taking a long drink of his Redbull. 

"I worked all day and now I'm going to work all night." Nasir huffs, brushes a hair back from his face. "It's business as usual."

"You could take a vacation." Castus offers, glances out of the corner of his eye as Nasir settles his hands on the keyboard in front of him. He must be set up with two monitors, his attention always on the right, the Skype call catching his profile. "A little get away. Take the boyfriend."

"Not gonna happen." Nasir starts typing, working the corner of his lip with his teeth. "Not even sure we're going to have time to spend our anniversary together."

"Anniversary?" Castus can't really do anything on his computer yet until Nasir sets his up, so he takes a little time to watch him. He's had a while to study Nasir's profile, his sloped nose, the curve of his full mouth. It kinda blows Castus' mind that someone this attractive is always head deep in an engine or breaking through binary code. Castus kinda wonders what Nasir looks like away from work, maybe sprawled out in a passenger seat, flying down the highway. Or even curled up in a cafe, the rain and soft jazz music and candles around. He's probably lovely, that soft and relaxed. 

"Yeah, uh, Agron and I started dating in October so it'll be our six year on the thirteenth." Nasir mentions, waves a hand a little. "But it's always bad timing. Shit picks up and then it's Halloween and then Duro's birthday so."

"What did you guys do last year?" Castus focuses on the curl poking out from Nasir's bun, it tucked just behind his ear. He'll sit here and listen to Nasir talk about anything he wants as long as he can watch him. 

"Oh um." It gives Nasir pause, him blinking rapidly down at his hands before looking at the screen fully. "Spartacus let us take a weekend. Went to stay at the coast in this little Airbnb. It was nice, quiet. Was too chilly to swim but there was a back porch overlooking the beach."

"Spartacus let you?" Castus raises an eyebrow at that. 

"Well yeah. I mean, Agron booked it and everything." Nasir shrugs, looking a little self-conscious. "But we had to take a security detail with us. They stayed in the bungalow behind the place, really low key. Only really had to follow us when we went to this little bistro on the boardwalk."

"Security detail..." Castus trails off, clearly confused. "But why? You were on vacation? Away from the city?"

"It can be a relatively popular location for Romans during the summer." Nasir shrugs, fiddles with a ring on his middle finger. "Spartacus wanted us to be safe and Agron wasn't going to leave without his permission so they compromised."

"Nasir-" Castus starts, already having an opinion on that when Nasir gives a helpless little shrug. 

"It's alright. I get it. It's not like Sedullus had to stay in the house or anything." Nasir's cheeks turn rosy, bottom lip going back between his teeth. "Not like it wasn't obvious what we were doing but still. It was still private. More than this house is."

Castus feels his chest do that lurch again, tightening a little. Nasir hasn't ever come out and said it, but Castus had gotten the impression that their house is kind of a hub of activity at all times. He wonders what that does to a guy like Nasir, always being the host, always being the one under scrutiny. 

"Do you like to swim?" Castus changes the subject a little, tries to bring it back around. 

"I do." Nasir looks up at the screen, grins a little in amusement. It crinkles the skin next to his eyes, making him look soft and happy. "Though, if I'm honest, I think I'd rather just sunbath at the beach."

"Well, it's settled then." Nodding in approval, Castus levels the camera with a look. "Come July, I'll take you out on my boat. No security needed. And you can turn as brown as you want."

"You have a boat?" Nasir laughs, tilts his head back with it. "A real one?"

"It's like a mini-yacht. Has a full deck and a full bar." Castus wiggles his eyebrows. "Even has an on-deck shower for swimming."

"Oh, does it?" Nasir looks a little impressed, nodding his head. "Wow."

Castus' chest flutters with the way Nasir is grinning, the tension in his shoulders melting down to a sinewy line. He doesn't look that bothered by the idea if the rosy flush to his cheeks is any indication. 

"It'll be great. I'll sail us out into this warm bend of the ocean, waters really clear there and it's serene. Like heaven on earth. You've never seen anything like it." Castus explains, leaning forward in his excitement. "Just you and me and the open sea." 

It's like watching the shades be drawn, as in slow motion, Nasir's smile slowly falls off his face, eyebrows lowering. He makes a point of clearing his throat, shifting around in his seat again, refocusing on his hands. Castus could almost curse himself for taking it too far, for teasing and flirting, when eventually he knew Nasir was going to shoot him down. He always does. 

"That sounds nice. Maybe in another reality." Nasir's smile is fleeting, brittle. He doesn't look at the screen again, just goes back to typing. 

Castus can't think of anything to say for a while, watches Nasir and fiddles with the rope bracelets around his own wrist. He wishes there was something he could do, even a little bit, to ease some of whatever it is that is eating at Nasir. But it's like looking at someone through a glass window, unsure of what's going on inside but only seeing the reactions. He selfishly wonders of how different it would be if Nasir was single, if he was in a gang just for clout and not for the family, not for the years of devotion. 

He can imagine Nasir switching sides, being a Pirate. Heracleo is kind of a shithead, a little too self obsessed, but Castus would take care of Nasir. He'd make sure he was happy, sleeping, eating, not crying every three days. It makes Castus hate Agron, not just for his place, but for what looks like apathy. How can he look at Nasir and not care?

"You know." Castus starts, tries desperately to break some of the bitter tension. "I've been meaning to ask you, is that a Hackers poster behind you?"

"Oh." Nasir turns his head, glances at the frame on the wall. "It is. Duro thinks he's funny." 

"It's a good movie." Castus agrees. "Plus, you're like a master mind. Certified genius."

"You're only saying that because I'm helping you a hack a bank account worth fifty thousand dollars." Nasir's eyes don't leave his screen, but his cheeks get a little rosy, clearly pleased. 

"Would have said it even if you were just helping me hack into an iPhone." Castus answers honestly. Everything Nasir does is brilliant. "Now, are you going to show me how to do it or just do it for me?"

"I suppose I could show you." That earns a rare grin pointed right at the camera, Nasir's eyes twinkling a little in the lamp light. "Since I did promise I would."

They dissolve into work after that, light conversation sprinkled in while Nasir shares his screen. Castus retains most of it, files it away for when he's doing his own hacking later. Mostly though, he lets himself indulge. He stares at Nasir, watches the way the computer light flickers of his face, how he bites his lip when he's thinking. It's little things that Castus will lay in bed later and think about. 

He should feel guilty about it. And maybe, in a little way, Castus does. He's guilty of wanting what he can't have, guilty of thinking about what Nasir's mouth tastes like, how his hips would feel under Castus' gentle hands, how he’d look strung out on pleasure. But he's also guilty of wanting simple things - the comfort of being in Castus' small kitchen, how Nasir would look leaning against his counter, cooking together. The way Nasir's hand would look wrapped around a wine glass, easy conversation and music on in the background. 

It's a fantasy and a curse. Castus lets it overwhelm him, can’t stop watching and waiting for Nasir to turn his head, to finally confess to something Castus know, _he knows_ , will never happen. He’s already staring, lost in his own mind, so he sees when Nasir jump on screen, turn his head around at what sounds like a door opening. Castus can hear the heavy footfalls on the stairs, the pause outside of what must be the room Nasir is sitting in. Then all he can see is Nasir's face light up - mouth turned soft and grinning, eyes wide. 

A mug appears in front of the screen for a moment, steaming coffee, and then a plate of what looks like sandwiches - cut into triangles. Castus watches the forearm disappear from sight, already knowing, before Agron steps into frame. He doesn't even bother glancing at the computer, just caresses the side of Nasir's jaw, tilts his chin up for a chaste kiss. Castus hates the easy way Nasir leans into it, the ease at which Agron touches him, guides him into another kiss, this one a little longer. Nasir falls apart at it, gives him a smile that Castus has never seen. 

"It's nearly two, baby." 

Agron's voice is raspy, quiet so Castus actually turns his computer up to hear him. He knows he should feel bad for eaves dropping, but it’s not like they’re not doing it right in front of him. Nasir is all soft lines now, reaches up to touch Agron's side, down over his hip. 

"I'm almost done." Nasir's eyes flash over to the computer for the briefest of seconds, already back to Agron before Castus can even recognize it. "Is everyone still here?"

"No. I kicked them out when Lugo and Nemetes started brawling." Agron is making these little passes of his fingers over the shell of Nasir's ear, gently brushing his lobe. Castus can't stop watching it, can't stop memorizing the way Nasir's eyelashes flutter from it. It’s not a casual touch – but something known, something Agron has learned brings Nasir comfort. "Nothing got broke. Maybe a little blood shed. I cleaned it all up though."

"That's good. Thank you." Turning towards Agron's arm, Nasir kisses his wrist, nuzzles there for a moment. "Are you going to bed?"

"Yeah, just waiting for Duro to text me he got home safe." 

Agron leans down then, gets both of his hands up on Nasir's face, tilts him back just half an inch so his next kiss lands centered. It's a slow one, mouths brushing in these little pecks until Nasir’s falls opens for Agron with an audible sigh, tongues meeting in the middle. It all seems so easy, so practiced, the way Agron tilts his head, deepens it for a moment, moves Nasir how he wants him – how it’s best. Castus wishes he had the strength to look away, wishes it wasn't burning him up alive. 

"I'll be up soon." Nasir draws his bottom lip between his teeth as Agron rests their foreheads together, both lightly panting. "Promise."

"You won't." Agron pulls away with a rueful grin, shaking his head. He looks good like this, a little messy in low slung sweatpants, a tight Bring Me the Horizon t-shirt stretched over his chest. Castus can see the appeal. He always has. "But it's okay. I know you. You'll crawl out of here eventually." 

"Warm up my side, okay?" Nasir grips Agron's hand, kisses his knuckles. He’s all soft lines now, clinging to any part of Agron that gets close to him. "Give me thirty minutes?"

"Give you the rest of my life."

Agron murmurs it, presses a gentle finger to Nasir's mouth, tracing his cupid’s bow, before pulling away completely. He's turned enough that Nasir doesn't catch the way Agron drags his hand in front of himself, blocks it as he flips off the camera before slipping out of frame. Castus doesn't necessarily think he deserves that, but then again, he did just blatantly watch an intimate moment between them. Though, in his defense, it wasn't like Agron was trying to hide it. 

Castus watches Nasir watch Agron leave and he wants to stop but he can 't. It's like Nasir's face is brand new - that fond grin pulling his now bruised mouth into something soft, private, with glassy eyes and a small tilt to his head. And Castus knows what he's looking at is love and it fucking kills him. 

"If you want to go, I'm good here." Castus coughs awkwardly, forces himself to drop his attention to his keyboard. He doesn't want to see this. He wishes he had looked away ages ago. 

"No, no. It's fine." Nasir reaches next to him, picks up the corner of one of the sandwiches, taking a bite. "Where were we?"

"It's late." Castus tries to argue, glances back to see Nasir chewing thoughtfully, clicking around on the screen. He can feel the bitterness crawling in his throat, his next words sharp with it. "Your husband is waiting on you."

"He's not-" Nasir says slowly, turning to face the screen again. There is a cucumber half tilted out of the bread of his sandwich, threatening to fall onto his keyboard. 

"He is." Castus can't even help the thin, brittle smile he sends him. "It's fine. I'll just see you tomorrow, yeah? You’ll text me the address?”

“Castus, it’s really not-“ Nasir starts but then falls silent, mouth twisting in a grimace. “It's really not like that. I can finish up with you. I set aside the time to work with you."

"Babe, it's two in the morning." Castus watches Nasir's gaze flicker at the pet name, lays it on real sweet and thick to watch him squirm. If he can't get the reactions out of Nasir that he wants, he'll take this instead. "You really want me to be down here with me? Talking about binary code and HTML? When you should be in your bed, passed out from a thorough fuck-"

"Castus!" Nasir's eyes go wide, face burning.

"I'm not wrong." Castus shrugs a little. Only feels a little guilty at Nasir's scandalized expression. "If you were with me, I'd never let you sleep without it."

Popping the corner of his sandwich in his mouth, Nasir brushes his fingers together, very pointedly focusing on the other screen. It lets Castus watch him chew, brow furrowed, a little frown denting the corner of his mouth. Castus would like to care more about it, but all he really focuses on is how it stopped Nasir in his tracks. How Nasir is probably sitting there, thinking about it. Makes Castus wonder if he does, if sometimes late at night, when he's lying next to Agron, if Nasir stares up at the ceiling and thinks of how Castus would feel inside of him. 

"We're meeting with Spartacus and the others tomorrow. I'll text you the address in the morning, okay?" Nasir changes the subject, all back to business, even as he shifts around in his seat. 

"Whatever you say, boss." Castus teases, wishes he could brush his hands along Nasir's shoulder. Could press his mouth to the curve of Nasir's neck, taste his pulse. 

"Okay, well, I think that does it for tonight." Turning back, Nasir levels the camera with a small, forced smile. "I'll talk to you later?"

"Are you mad because I'm right or are you mad because now you're thinking about it?" Castus interrupts, lets his grin go leering. It has the desired effect - Nasir's eyes going a little wider, his mouth left open. 

"I'm not upset." Nasir dismisses easily, shaking his shoulders. "There is nothing to be upset about."

"So, you are thinking about it." Castus teases this time, coy tilt to his head. "What are you seeing?"

"I'm not thinking about anything but crawling into my bed and going to sleep." Nasir says it with a well placed eyeroll. "It's late. I'm exhausted."

"Could make it worth your while if you came to mine." Castus shrugs a shoulder. "Or maybe I should just tell you."

"Goodnight Castus." Nasir drawls firmly, clearly ending the conversation. 

"Goodnight Nasir." Castus winks, his grin permanent. "Sweet dreams of me."

"As if." 

Nasir hangs up, leaves the screen a dull blue as the Skype window closes. He just sits there for a moment, face still burning, his heart pounding in his chest. It’s not because he’s interested. He’s not. Castus is attractive, sure, has a nice face, but Nasir could never. Not when he closes his eyes and all he sees is Agron’s perfect grin, his dimples. 

He has to make this work though – Castus and him. For the greater good, he has to make sure that this plan they’ve been working on is flawless. It’s not just for them, for the Rebels, but for everyone that the Romans are stealing, _are selling_. And it’s up to Nasir to help stop it, has been given the opportunity to make it better, to finally thwart a Roman plan that means something. 

Getting out of his chair, Nasir flips the light off and goes upstairs. He knows that Agron has already locked everything up, but he double checks anyways – just incase. Old habits die hard. It only takes him a minute, tiptoeing up the main stairs to the bathroom. He gets ready for bed in the dim light of the nightlight, barely glances at himself in the mirror as he brushes his teeth. It’s late and he’s exhausted, worn out from the long day. He knows his eyes are probably red, bloodshot from crying and from the blue light. He doesn’t even bother with pajamas, just slips into bedroom in his underwear. 

Agron is pretending to sleep, propped up on the pillows, one arm thrown over his head. Nasir still is careful when he climbs in next to him, slips under the blankets and up against his side. He turns his head briefly, presses a kiss over his name on Agron’s chest, before settling back down. He’s so fucking nervous for tomorrow he knows sleep isn’t going to come easy, but at least he can focus on something other than that gnawing fear. Can listen to Agron’s breathing, get lost a little in the brush of his abs under Nasir’s fingers. 

“Schatzi?” Agron murmurs after what must be close to a half an hour, his eyelashes leaving smudges against his cheeks. 

“I’m okay. Just wired. Go to sleep, Ags.” Nasir kisses his tattoo again, seeks out his name in the dark. 

“Whatever your plan is,” And Nasir curses Agron, curses him for knowing him so well. “I’m sure it will be fine. Spartacus trusts you.”

“Yeah?” Nasir whispers in the dark, hopes. “You believe that?” 

“I’ve always believed in you.” Opening his eyes, Agron meets his gaze in the dark, fingers on Nasir’s cheek. “Always.”

“You’ll back me up? No matter what it is?” Nasir asks, though he already knows the answer. They’re always in each other’s corners. “I need you in this.” 

Agron curves his body more on his side so they’re facing each other on the pillow. Nasir wants to cower away from it, afraid that Agron is seeing more than Nasir is ready to show him, but Agron just hooks an arm around his waist, holds him still. This close in bed, it feels like they’re untouchable. Like no one can permeate their space. 

“You have me.” Agron starts, his thumb tracing slowly over Nasir’s spine. “No matter what. I’m always going to back you up. I’m always going to fight for you.”

“I want us to be okay again.” Nasir mumbles, can feel the pinpricks of tears starting, tries to squash them down. It’s not fair. It’s late and Agron has been drinking and Nasir is so fucking tired. 

“I’m sorry.” Ducking his head, Agron’s face furrows in concentration, like he has to pull the words out of his chest with how deep their buried. “I haven’t been the greatest, have I?”

“We’ve been going through a lot lately.” Nasir reaches up, brushes his fingers through Agron’s hair. “But we’re only making it worse by punishing each other.”

“I know that.” Agron sighs deeply, a rush of warm air between them, and Nasir leans up, gets a kiss pressed to Agron’s forehead. They’re rare, which makes them even more special. 

“Go to sleep, babe.” Nasir murmurs, doesn’t feel like he can keep this conversation going without breaking down. And they both don’t need this right now. “Busy day tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Agron shuffles down a little, presses his face into Nasir’s neck, his arms going tight around his waist. He’s usually the big spoon, always has been, holding Nasir tightly to him, shielding him from everything else. It feels good then to have Nasir wrap him up like this, bury a kiss to the top of Agron’s head, holding close. It blocks everything else out, a dull roar around them, and Agron is asleep before he even has a chance to realize it. 

\- - - 

The safe house on the corner of Seymour and Maple is a large Victorian style with a wooden porch held up by four round pillars, painted a flaking but sophisticated pale white. The front door is plated glass, though looking at it from a distance, it doesn't look like it's been fortified. It's the nicest out of the dozen or so 'bunkers' that Spartacus owns. This house is specifically used for meetings like this, the downstairs furnished to look like an actual home, an extra long wooden table taking the place of center focus in the dining room. 

Half a dozen people are already milling around, taking in hushed voices and holding drinks. It's all the people that Nasir knows, has known, for many years. It's his fucking family, honestly, and yet Nasir can't be out there with them. He can't look at Naevia or Crixus or fucking Gannicus and pretend that he's got it all figured out, all under control. 

He knows he should trust in the plan. It's a good one. Castus and him had worked it all out, fine combed every detail, went over multiple scenarios. But this plan isn’t like the other, simple brawls or meditated attacks. This plan requires cunning, requires perfect timing and cooperation, requires the Romans to be a little too obsessed with themselves to notice anything. And in all honesty, it requires a little bit of dumb luck.

“Nasir?” The door to the bedroom he’s hiding in opens, Saxa’s blond head suddenly popping up around the frame before she comes in all the way. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Having a bit of a mental breakdown.” Nasir wheezes, waving a hand. He’s half bent over, hands on his knees. “Normal day.”

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Saxa shuts the door softly behind her, leaning on it. She’s wearing a dress covered in little leaves, the green contrasting nicely with her skin, the hem high on her leg. 

“I’m scared this is a bad idea. I’m scared Spartacus will think so too. Scared I didn't think of everything." Nasir runs a stray hand through his hair, yanks it a little. He's been meaning to get it cut, hasn't had the time, the strands spilling around his collarbones. "I mean, I'm working with a fucking Pirate."

"Hey, it'll be fine." Saxa steps across the floor, taking him by the shoulders. They're nearly the same height, though she may have an inch or so on him. "You're smart. You've got this."

"But this is the first time he's letting me plan something. And it's not something small. This isn't like us beating someone up. This is a major attack and I'm just-" Nasir starts to ramble again, cut off by Saxa's soft cooing. 

"You're the only one who could have come up with this." Saxa brushes a strand of hair from his forehead. "You've got this. You're a Giesler. All we do is get shit done."

"Saxa," Nasir groans, tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling. It shouldn't help, the warm feeling filling up his chest at the easy way Saxa includes him in her family, like it's second nature. 

"You need to Beyonce this." Saxa shakes him a little. "Go out there and be the fucking queen you know you are. You're an independent, brilliant, and capable man who is going to fucking cut the Romans off at the knees and then fling their balls into the river. Got it?"

"I don't know about-" Nasir starts, shaking his head, but Saxa's fingers turn sharp, squaring up to him. 

"I get that you're more of a Partition type of gay, but I really need you to go out there and be a Run the World one, okay?" Saxa smiles that sardonic smile of her, makes her canines look sharp and pointed. It's the Geisler grin, the type that makes all of them look more wolf than human. "Got it?"

"Okay. Okay. I've got this." Nasir nods, swallows down his fear a little, tries to settle himself. "Gotta have this."

"Great. Now here." Saxa reaches into her bag, wiggles her fingers around a small, bejeweled flask. The rhinestones spell out 'bitch' in bright pink along the front. "Liquid courage."

"Is it Jäger?" Nasir tries not to grimace. 

"Who in the world tried to give you Jäger?" Saxa looks affronted, unscrewing the top. She knows her answer with an eyeroll, muttering something in German. "Of course he did. Here, drink some."

Nasir sniffs the top of it, scrunches his nose. "Tequila?"

"Cuervo." Saxa confirms, watches Nasir tilts the flask back, chugs a little more than he should. Saxa gives a gleeful bark of a laugh, tilting her head back. 

"Jesus," Nasir coughs, wiping a hand against his lips. His mouth burns, his tongue pressed up behind his front teeth, chest warm and full.

"Now, do you feel better?" Saxa asks, leans back on her heels. 

"Definitely feel different." Nasir is still trying to settle, hopes no one will smell it on him. "Thanks."

"Of course." Saxa grins again, tilting her head to the side, accessing. She can still see a little bit of tension around his eyes, but Nasir is slowly rolling his hands up into his hair, pulling it all into a bun at the top of his head. He looks a little flushed now, rosy in a good way. 

"Alright, show time." Saxa pats his cheek, not unkindly but in her rough loving way. "'Cause I'm pretty sure your boyfriend just gave Castus the frisking of his life. So, maybe we should-?"

"Fuck. Okay." Nasir rolls his shoulders back, stepping around her to yank the door open.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? Um, I'm sorry this is late. I try to keep mostly on time, but I got a little behind. Obviously we're all living in the world and some of us are in the US, so yeah. We all are suffering and trying every day. Also, I fucked myself up by writing for another fandom so now I'm splitting my time and yeah. Go read my Larry stuff if you're into that. 
> 
> I just hope that this is good and we're finally getting somewhere. Thank you all for reading and being loyal. I appreciate every single one of you.

“It is important that the people who go won’t be looked at twice.” Nasir explains again, resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’s said the same thing four times already, in four different ways. He doesn’t know why he has to keep repeating it. “We have to blend in. Seem like part of the crowd.”

"And how _exactly_ is that helpful?" 

Gannicus' loud voice fills the room, hints just on the edge of scathing. He's sprawled out in his chair, arm hooked over the back, looking entirely too relaxed for a meeting like this. It puts him within touching distance of Agron, who he keeps hitting with an errant fist on the knee. Whatever attention he's hoping to get though, it's not working. Agron has barely blinked the entire meeting, just keeps his gaze solely focused forward, watches hawklike as Nasir paces at the end of the table. 

“Because, as Nasir said, -” Castus starts only to stop as half the room flinches, glancing at one another, a low murmur starting up. He hasn't said anything the entire time, okay with letting Nasir lead, but now the Rebels stare at him as if they're only just realized he was here. 

Gannicus doesn’t join in with the quiet outrage, just lets out that loud, barking laugh of his - so mocking that Nasir has to cringe a little in sympathy. He _knew_ it was a bad idea for have Castus here, to have him put in front of the top members of the Rebels, but he’s just as important to this plan as Nasir is. He had hoped that everyone would behave, especially in front of Spartacus, but that doesn't seem to be the case. 

“I wasn’t talking to you, _Pirate_.” Gannicus makes a vague motion towards Nasir, brushing his blond curls over his shoulder. “You want to go over it again, angel? I'm sorry. I promise I'm listening.”

Nasir glances up at the ceiling, takes a full round of breaths to try and calm the burning in his face. He doesn't want to have the conversation that is definitely going to follow this, doesn't even want to think about how awkward it's going to be. Castus is going to ask and Nasir is going to have to explain why some asshole is calling him pet names and hitting his boyfriend like he's waiting for Agron to let it all out. 

"We're going to plant surveillance in the Roman's new club." Nasir starts again, says the words slowly like they'll stick this time. "We need to get inside and the only way we can do that is to go in as regular people. Nothing to draw attention. We’ll just be one of the many."

"Even if you got inside, where are you going to plant them?" Crixus speaks up then, arms crossed over his chest. "And without anyone noticing?"

“It’s not like you’re going to carry a camera up your snatch.” Rhaskos mutters loudly, nudging his elbow into one of the guards behind him. 

"Watch your mouth." Agron hisses through his teeth, his hand smacking into the table with a loud bang. It’s followed shortly by a “Fuck you!” from Saxa, prompting a nasty response in French from one of the men just over Rhaskos’ shoulders. It takes a moment for the table to resettle, both sides glaring at one another. Spartacus is quick to clear his throat though, setting his hands calmly on the table. It’s a warning as much as a soothing balm.

The tension in the room has been coiling since Nasir stepped in front of the table. It’s always this way though, this cavern of a divide between the Germans – Agron’s men and women – and then the French – the ones who follow Crixus. Usually, the two groups can manage to get through a meeting – especially one with Spartacus in the room – but it feels as of late that nothing is settled. There is a divide here, one growing deeper as time moves forward. 

"With Castus' assistance, I have mapped out key locations that the Romans will most likely congregate, as well as, places of interest - the bar, the back room, and security office. If we can set up the bugs, I can have them running surveillance for up to three weeks without needing to change them out." Nasir explains, points over his shoulder at the blueprint currently projected on a large screen on the wall. "Our team will work together to cover the hot spot areas throughout the evening."

"So, let me get this straight." Gannicus' voice is grating, a little chuckle under the words. He's not taking this seriously, or at least, is finding something about it amusing. "You're going to go in, plant the bugs in the general area, and then leave? Without being caught? Or looking suspicious? In a Roman fucking night club? Just in and out?"

"No." Nasir grits his teeth, tries hard not to lose his temper, to swallow it back. "It's a bit more complicated than that, thanks."

"And who is this dream team, then?" Rhaskos speaks up again, scoffing from his place against the wall. Nasir isn’t even sure why he’s here. He’s not high ranking. "You and your huge, recognizable boyfriend?"

"I already have the team picked out." Nasir answers simply, tries not to notice the way Agron's eyes drift over to the other side of the room, his scowl deepening. "After careful consideration and planning."

"Who do you want, Nasir?" Spartacus asks. He's been watching Nasir with a sort of high attention, poised at the head of the table opposite of where Nasir and Castus are. 

"I need people who won't draw attention and will fit in with the crowd. We're supposed to just be run of the mill club goers." Nasir starts, laces his fingers together before him. "I think our best options would be Saxa, Naevia, Pietros, and myself." 

"What? Why?" Gannicus cuts in again, bewildered. "How is that the best option?"

"Shut up, you dumb fuck. Did you not just hear what he said?" Saxa snarls, reaches over to pinch Gannicus' arms. "He needs people that are of Roman taste."

"Roman taste? What are you going to do? Sneak your way into the VIP box?" It's Rhaskos again, his tone mocking and sharp. “Spread your legs for the first eagle tattoo you see?”

“Sound jealous, Rhaskos.” Nemetes smirks, raising an eyebrow at the other man. “Do you often find yourself wanting to be fucked by the Romans?”

"We're not going to sneak." Nasir sniffs derisively. He won’t lower himself to respond to the comment but interrupts it before it can continue. "One of us will need to be invited." 

Agron's eyes squint just a little, just a twitch, but Nasir catches it. It's the type of look that speaks volumes even though Agron's mouth hasn't moved. He knows what Nasir is getting at, what part of the plan must entail. One of them, out of the four, is going to need to draw Roman attention - at least enough to get invited into the VIP section. Which means, they're going to have to blend in but not enough that they get swallowed up in the crowd. 

"You need to take guards in." Agron finally seems to unstick his teeth, his tone kept level even as his brow lowers. "In case something goes wrong. Myself. Duro. Gannicus, even."

"We'll be armed. Mira made us some small things that can go in undetected." Nasir takes in a full breath, fights every urge to recoil as he finally lets it out. It takes all of his strength, all of his power, to level his gaze on Agron, to stay the words he’s known for over a week now. 

"You're not coming."

"What?" Gannicus' hand falls hard on Agron's knee, turning his head between the couple. "Nasir, you have to think-"

"You're too recognizable. The Romans have full databases on you. I know. I’ve seen them.” Nasir can the coil of tension in his shoulders, the pounding of blood in his head. He’s hyper aware of the way Agron is staring at him, the way his gaze only wavers when Castus leans closer to Nasir’s side. “You really think no one is going to recognize the Beasts East of the Rhine?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’ll show up with the bats or anything.” Duro speaks up. He's been hiding behind Lugo, pointedly ignoring the sideways glances he's getting from Auctus. Duro still has bruises all over his throat, violet and telling. “We can blend in just as much as you.”

“No, we can’t.” It’s surprisingly Agron who says it, rubs a hand along his jaw. “He’s right. We’re known to them. Especially after the attack.”

“We're never going to even get in the front door if they spot any of you. It has to be us." Nasir continues, talks over the sound of protest coming from the German side of the room. It's a cacophony of noise really, between the rough vowels of their language and then English and then scattered grunts. "Plus, none of you are what the Romans go for."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nemetes snaps out, leaning up from where he's shoved in the corner. 

"It means the Romans, fucking Crassus or Caesar, go after a different type." Crixus interrupts, rolling his eyes. "Pretty, small, _prey_. Not six-foot mouthy drunks who can barely string a sentence together."

"Oy!" Nemetes snaps, goes to shove himself off the wall when suddenly Spartacus is pushing back from the table, mouth turned down into a thin line. 

"Enough." He circles the table, cuts a path through the crowd without even trying. The Rebels know to fall back, to fall in line. 

Nasir watches him command the room, watches the way Spartacus approaches him with thoughtful, dark eyes. He doesn't think to look away, even when Agron shifts out of the corner of his eye, even as Castus leans into him, his arm brushing along Nasir's back. This just like before, in the car, with the way Spartacus' claims attention, forces the eyes on him, forces Nasir's lungs to constrict. This is not the Sparty that has laid on his couch, laughing and playing FIFA, drinking beer on a lazy afternoon. This is Spartacus. Rebel King. Killer. 

"Nasir," Spartacus starts, comes to rest only a foot away from him, his hand on the table. "You know this plan is relying heavily on the Romans even taking notice of you. How do you plan to do that?”

"It's a known fact that Crassus' new girlfriend is physically similar to both Naevia and Saxa. As are most of the _imports_." Nasir doesn't want to see the ripple of acknowledgement through the crowd, doesn't want to know. "Pietros and I can fill in with the others and their...proclivities.”

“Meaning what?” Crixus prompts. He’s not doing it in a rough way, tone turned curious as Naevia leans into his side, her hand on his arm. 

“Meaning we’ll either be spotted and invited.” Nasir explains, tries not to let his face get hot, already knowing how it will sound. “Or we seek someone out.”

"So now we're dealing in prostitutes as well. Good to know his other talent has always been selling his ass."

Rhaskos barely has the words out before Agron is on his feet, skittering over the edge of the table. He knocks hard into Crixus on the way, but it's just a blip as they collide down onto the floor with a terrible crash. It only takes a moment before Duro is up too though, following Saxa as they collide with Tyronius and Mannus against the wall, slamming into others. 

It's brief and bloody, shouting voices as fists move and wood splinters. Crixus somehow gets in between them, screaming in French as his arms wrap around Agron and pull him up, only to slam him down on the table. The other Rebels scatter out of the way, people scampering over to the other side. 

Nasir means to step forward, mouth already open in shock, when Castus' hand curls around his wrist, halting him. He's watching with a sort of cool, unattachment, shaking his head when Nasir tries to tug against the restraint. It's the most they've touched each other and Nasir's eyes widen when Castus guides him until Nasir has no choice but to fit into his side. 

"Let them get it out." Castus murmurs, rolls his eyes a little at the sound of splintering wood. 

It would dissolve into a full brawl if not for Spartacus, who gets between Agron and Crixus with a sharp arm, shoving them in opposite directions. Agron ends up slammed against the table, half on top of it, and Crixus in the arms of his friends, pinned to the wall. There is blood dripping down Agron's chin, his teeth crimson as he growls. Crixus is going to have a black eye, his pupils blown wide, but he doesn't struggle, especially when Naevia steps against him. 

"Nasir," Spartacus speaks, turns slowly to face the front of the room again, his arms still out. 

There is something awful about the way Agron follows him, about the way those green eyes settle on Nasir and then pointedly down to where Castus' hand is still around his wrist, still arched against him. It takes all of Nasir's will power not recoil, not to thrust Castus off of him. There is no point in drawing more attention to it, not when Agron's top lip curls like that. He's already seen enough, already formed opinions.

"That is all I have. The plan will be gone over in more detail with those involved. For now, we must stay vigilant and look out for any signs of Roman attack." Nasir shuffles his feet a little, reaches over to flick the screen off, the blueprint disappearing from the wall. "Meeting dismissed."

No one moves for a moment, turning their gazes to Spartacus first. Even with the meeting belonging to Nasir, it's really up to the Rebel King. He waves a hand in dismissal and at once, the door opens, people shuffling out. It's not without backwards glances though, words whispered behind hands, knowing eyes. Rhaskos limps off with Nemetes' arm around him, both of their heads tilted together in conversation. He's bleeding profusely from his nose, holding the edge of his t-shirt to it. 

Duro gets pulled out of the room with Gannicus' arm around his waist, whispering and making a point of sliding around Auctus who watches with an open mouth. Nasir only catches a glimpse of them before Castus' cool grip is changing, sliding up to the back of his arm instead, guiding him to the side. 

"Nasir, this isn't going to work." Castus leans in close so the spearmint of his gum invades the small space between their faces. He's close enough that Nasir can see the curve of his mouth, the spot he missed shaving just to the side of his chin. "He's too much of a risk, too violent. If they even suspect, a glimmer of doubt, and they'll shut down the whole club. They'll search every single person there. You're only as safe as you make yourself." 

"Don't. Castus, don't talk about him like that." Nasir lowers his eyes, can feel the flexing on Castus' fingers on the back of his arm. "Agron isn't going inside anyways. It's just the four of us. We already planned it all out."

"Listen to me, listen, _baby boy_ , you're a fucking catch. You're literally pulled right out of my dreams." Castus starts, his words soft and desperate. He's close enough he can count Nasir's eyelashes if he wanted, could close the space between them with a half step. 

"Stop. Please, don't say-" Nasir can barely look at him, cringing as Castus doesn't slow down, just charges on. He's bold for doing this in a room of slowly emptying Rebels, committed to the words that just keep crashing out of his mouth. 

"But I'm not willing to stick my neck out for someone who can't even get through a meeting without attacking one of his own." Castus' nose just barely brushes Nasir's, ignores the scuffle of feet behind him. "It's a fucking brilliant plan. You don't need this shit." 

"I'm not asking you to do anything for him." Something hot curls in Nasir's chest, a sort of simmering rage that has finally peaked. "This is my plan. My idea. It has nothing to do with him." 

"Doesn't everything?" Castus' fingers trail over Nasir's bicep, down onto his side, his fingertips ghosting over the scar on his ribs. “You take a beating for him every time. Learn to think for yourself. Stand up for yourself instead of being Agron’s doormat.”

It's like a caught fuse, the sparks starting in the center of Nasir's chest, rippling slowly over his shoulders, down along his arms. There is only a moment of hesitancy in the palm of his hand, his fingers curled up around the heat of it. It's not really a punch, fingers curled half way into a fist as Nasir's hand connects with Castus' cheek with a resounding slap. 

Silence falls along the room. Spartacus, who had been leaning over Agron, hissing warnings and glares, turns to stare in disbelief. It's not the expression on his face though that is chilling, it's the way Agron's eyes are gleaming in the light, his mouth still crimson stained. He's just watching, poised to lift himself off the wood, but he doesn't. He’s just present, waiting to see what the next move will be. 

"I'm not going to apologize for speaking the fucking truth." Castus thumbs across his mouth, wipes at his bottom lip. His cheek is red, not enough to bruise, but to leave the smarting outline of Nasir's fingertips. 

“Castus, I-“ Nasir flounders, tries to put into words. He’s not like this. He’s not quick with violence on people he considers his friends, not usually. It must be the tension in the room, the stifling aura of hatred and contempt. 

"You're smarter than this, Nasir." Leveling him with a cool gaze, Castus shakes his head, exhaling loudly. "When are you going to open your fucking eyes?"

He doesn't bother sticking around, just stares at Nasir for half a second more, like he’s waiting for Nasir to say something. It doesn’t come, Nasir just staring up at him, chest heaving as he bites back every nasty thing he wants to say, all of it fueled by everything else. Nasir can’t separate the desperate anger, the coiling anxiety in his chest, so he just glares up at Castus. Wants him to swallow back the sharp words that felt like daggers in a bruised bullseye. 

With a shake of his head, Castus marches out of the room without a backwards glance, steps around Spartacus and through the main room. The front door slams and Nasir deflates a little, runs a hand up to his hair, shaking it in it's pony tail. 

“For fuck’s sake. Really? Both of you?” Spartacus sighs deeply, a full body one that seems to pull his shoulders back and then down. He barely spares a glance between them before rolling his eyes. “Make sure you lock up and keep your phone on, Giesler.” 

“Always do.” Agron hides his grin by wiping at his mouth with the side of his hand, can’t help peaking up at Nasir. He’s almost gleeful in his pride. There is no way he's not enjoying this. 

Spartacus makes his way to the door, follows the same path that Castus just cut, only he actually lingers in the doorway. Slowly, as if contemplating the words, he turns back, a fond little tilt to his mouth. 

"Good job today, Nasir. It's a good plan."

He doesn't let Nasir respond, just gives a small nod of his head and then he's out of the house. It's not until the front door shuts again that Nasir lets himself sag, brings his hands up to cover his face, curving his spine a little. The tequila that had numbed him earlier, gave him courage, is gone now. And all Nasir is left feeling is a little hollow and exhausted. 

"Aw baby. C'mere." Agron coos, his arms out stretched. "You did so good!"

"I punched Castus!" Nasir gives a short wail, stumbles the few feet over until he can fit between Agron's thighs. "And you beat the shit out of Rhaskos. And what the fuck was wrong with Gannicus? And Duro? And why was Nemetes here?"

"We're Rebels. We're violent." Agron sooths, brushes his hands down Nasir's back, hugs him close. "And Rhaskos had it fucking coming."

"You jumped across a table because he got mouthy." Nasir sets his forehead against Agron's shoulder. "And now Crixus is pissed too."

"I was only doing what Rhaskos was asking for. Speaking to you like that, in front of everyone, had it coming." Agron soothes his fingers down the back of Nasir's head, grips the back of his neck. "Wouldn't you say Castus had it coming too?"

" _Ags_ ," Nasir groans, leans his arms over Agron's shoulders and settles unsure eyes on him. "We're supposed to all be working together. And I feel like we're not. We're not on the same page." 

"The ones who matter are." Agron gently brushes a loose strand of hair from Nasir's temple, rubs his thumb along his cheek. "You picked a good team and they'll follow you. You know you already have the support of my entire crew."

"Hardly." Nasir scoffs, shaking his head, but Agron suddenly looks somber, brow furrowed. 

"Of course you do. Why would you doubt that?" 

"Because, I-" Nasir hesitates, tries to find the right words. It's not like he hasn't thought about it. Crixus has his crew. Agron has his. And they all fall under Spartacus. "I'm not even German."

"Doesn't matter. Neither is Chadara." Agron dismisses easily. "They love you because I do. Because you're mine."

"So, what? I'm like Queen of the Germans?" Nasir laughs. But it falls on silence as Agron just stares up at him, waits for the words to finally catch up to Nasir. He's been oddly docile right now, gentle fingers ghosting over Nasir's skin, keeping him close. With the way he's perched on the table, it puts him at eyelevel with Nasir, so he can get the full scope of the emerald to chartreuse, the tiny gold flecks around Agron's irises. 

"Wait." Nasir starts again, his fingertips trailing along the back of Agron's neck. "Wait, seriously? Is that why in the deli-" He stops when Agron starts nodding. "And yesterday, when that old couple stopped us-" He keeps bouncing his head, a tiny grin forming in the corner of his mouth. "And at the Nickle, when they move-" Agron's hum of agreement stops him entirely. 

"You're important, Nasir. You've always been important." Agron cups Nasir's face between his palms, says the words slowly so Nasir can't miss a single one. "You're so smart and so kind and so fucking beautiful. Of course they love you. Of course they have loyalty to you."

"And you." Nasir laps over his bottom lip, mouth suddenly dry. 

"We're a unit, baby. Power couple of the German District. And Eastern European, if you want to be specific." Agron leans in, kisses Nasir sweet and soft. "And they would if I was in the picture or not. It's just more pronounced now. You know all the neighbors around us watched me grow up, watched me grow into this, to take care of them. It's our little place, our kingdom if you want to call it that."

"I just-" Nasir pauses, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. "It's been so hard lately and I thought-"

"I know baby. I know. But it's going to get better, yeah?" Agron kisses Nasir's forehead, holds him close. "I'm going to be better for you. You mean so much to me, Nasir. My whole heart right here. And I'm so proud of you."

"I love you." Nasir murmurs, kisses Agron over and over, dizzying little pecks that leave the taste of copper on his tongue. Agron doesn't let him go until his mouth is bruised, until they're completely wound up together, legs and arms. 

"I punched Castus." Nasir mutters weakly, leans in for another kiss. "I shouldn't have-"

"Whatever he said to you, he probably deserved it." Agron nudges his nose against Nasir's. "Don't dwell on it, yeah?"

He pets his hands over Nasir's shoulders, down onto his back, over along his hips. Agron gives him all the tactile affection he can, holding him close and hugging him into his body. Nasir deflates under the attention, nuzzles into Agron's neck and lets himself be held. He's been so fucking stressed that someone taking over, someone comforting him, feels like such a relief. 

"Let's go home, yeah?" Agron murmurs, his lips against Nasir's neck. "I think my genius deserves a reward, yeah?" 

"Yes, please." Nothing sounds better. 

\- - - 

Gannicus is bent over, hooking the last of the water lines up to the ground unit when a shadow casts over the ground. He had thought that no one would be around, no one to see him service the camper, but it seems he hadn't looked around that hard.

Oenomaus has his hands tucked into the front of his jeans, his shoulders hunched a little as he watches. There are a pair of large, reflective aviators perched on his nose, so Gannicus gets to see his own hesitation shown back at him as he finished twisting the hose on, getting to his feet. 

"Doctore." Gannicus greets with the old nickname, reaching up to tuck a long curl of blond hair behind his ear. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Your van is hard to miss." Oenomaus says it plainly, simple words with no inflection. It's so hard to read him with his sunglasses hiding half his face. 

"Yeah well, custom painted." Gannicus reaches over, pats the warm metal where a large mountain has been painted, the top erupting in a wave of volcanic ash and lava. "Mount Vesuvius."

“Fionn’s Seat.” Oenomaus nods, already knowing the reference. "Let sleeping giants lie." 

Gannicus has never felt so awkward in his life. He used to be able to stay up for hours with Oenomaus, filled every moment of his day with him. There was nothing between them, no lines, no barriers. It was like they were made to be together, some cosmic shit, but now this - it's stifling. Gannicus isn't sure where to look, how to act, how to even stand before him. So he lets his mouth get the better of him, lets it all out before he can even stop it. 

"What do you want Oenomaus?" 

For his credit, Oenomaus shifts his weight, resettles his heels like he's trying to drag it out too. It's never been this hard before, never so forced. 

"The shop has cameras, Gannicus." Oenomaus starts, pulling off his sunglasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I saw. Um. I saw you and Duro."

"Nasir kicked us out." Gannicus immediately defends, hooking his arms over his chest. "Not that it's any of your business."

"It is if you're doing that shit on my property." There is a bite to Oenomaus' tone now, a little twist in his mouth. 

"Doing what?" Gannicus tilts his head back so he can level him with a sardonic grin. " _Fucking?_ Is that the problem? Because I pay you rent to park my van on the lot. So-"

"Why him? Why anyone? I thought you said-" Oenomaus hesitates again, trips on what he wants to say. It's like he's struggling to not say what he really means. 

"Duro is nice. He's easy to be around, funny, a little mouthy. Great ass." Gannicus layers it on thick, manages to be honest if a little crude. "And he didn't throw me away when I finally confessed my feelings towards him."

"I'm married." Oenomaus grits between his teeth, sharp and scathing. 

"I know that!" Gannicus throws his arms out. "I was there. And I told you how I felt and you kicked me out."

"Melitta-" Oenomaus starts but Gannicus doesn't bother letting him finish. 

"Melitta fucking knows, Oenomaus. She's not blind. How many times do you think I've asked her? Told her how it would work out? How it wouldn't be that hard? How I would take whatever you _both_ wanted to give to me?"

"That's not what love is built on, Gannicus." Oenomaus sighs deeply, drops his head. "It's not begging for scraps at the table."

It hurts worse than what Gannicus thought it would. It hurts worse than the betrayed look on Oenomaus' face at the gym, hurts worse than the cold, dark window. Because this isn't a misunderstanding, this isn't fast denial with little thought. This is a rejection - plain and simple and underlined. 

"I love you. Both of you. So much I think I could bleed from it." Gannicus exhales the words, just lets them cascade out of him. "And I'm beginning to think that it is a mistake."

"I'm not trying to hurt you." Oenomaus lifts his hands, placating and soft. But his words are like a vice, tightening over and over around Gannicus' chest. "I'm only trying to save you from yourself. I'm married and that means something. Between two people."

Lips pressed to a thin line, Gannicus nods his head, amusement turned scathing and cold. "Of course you are. Martyr Oenomaus. A slave to honor and duty. A signed contract literally designed by rich white, Christian men to have possession over women. But by all means, defend it."

"Gannicus-" Oenomaus starts, his voice barking out of him. 

"Save it." 

Reaching down, Gannicus wrenches the hose out of the spigot, coils it back up into the side of the camper van. It's not full yet so water sloshes around his feet, stains the side of his Birkenstocks, turning the dirt into amber mud. He doesn't even bother to wipe his feet as he wrenches the door open, turning back when he's just inside. 

"Consider my lease null and void."

Gannicus slams the door with a resounding snap of metal on metal, stumbles over the carpeted floor until he can get to the driver's seat. He makes it all the way out of the lot, down two side streets before he has to pull over, bury his face in his hands and cry. 

\- - - 

Agron's been pacing for what feels like hours now, his boots creaking over the floorboards, leaving little scuffs when he steps off the rug. The whiskey, just a few shots in the kitchen to calm his shaking hands, sits hot and sickly in his chest, lingers just at the base of his throat. It's burning him up from the inside out, Agron hooking a hand over the back of his neck, rubs against the sharp bunching of muscle there. He's already got a headache and it's barely ten.

Gannicus has given up trying to talk to him. He's resigned himself to just watching, perched on the arm of the couch, his feet resting on Duro's leg. It seems Spartacus is following suit too, at least looking a little calmer with his back against the wall, picking at his nails and ignoring Crixus' whispering to him. 

"Ags," Duro mutters, hooks his arm over the back of the couch. "It'll be-"

"I'm fine." Agron hisses the words between his clenched teeth, turns to make the path back along the edge of the living room. 

He knows it will be. Has to know it will be. Has to trust in Nasir. It's not helping that Castus is lingering in the doorway of the dining room, drinking one of Nasir's La Croix, or how comfortable he appears, gazing coolly around the room. It's such a juxtaposition to the sounds of music and laughter from upstairs, a few thuds on the ceiling as well. 

They've been getting ready for an hour now, Saxa and Pietros having arrived carrying large duffels and plastic bags from a costume shop downtown. Naevia had appeared fifteen minutes later with only a long black case, no bigger than a purse, but held together tightly with locked clasps. She had been extremely gentle with it when she took it upstairs, not even bother to touch the handrail. 

Why the Romans are having a costume party three weeks before Halloween is lost on the Agron. Nasir had assured everyone that they had been going through theme weeks - bringing a new flavor to the party every weekend, drawing in business. Agron thinks the theme of "True Self" is a little on the nose and a little vague considering the crowd that the Romans are pulling are probably not smart enough to be that deep, but whatever. 

The music above cuts out, some shuffling on the floorboards, and suddenly a pair of nude, spiked heels appears at the top of the staircase. They lead up to long, bare legs with a strap of golden studs wrapped around the thighs, tucked into the pale, tawny leotard. It's cut low on the front, the v edged in golden fur and more studs. Saxa's face is contoured sharp, dark lines around her eyes, golden curls teased into a mass with tiny lions ears clipped to the crown. 

"Holy fuck." Gannicus gasps, interrupting the silence of the room. She only gives him a smirk, steps to the side and makes a grand gesture at the stairs again. 

There are a lot of parts to Naevia's costume, a leather bikini top, spikes and chainmail, with a little skirt that seems impractical and yet somehow extremely fitting. She doesn't have any weapons strapped to her, though her hair is pulled high in a ponytail, the strands linked together with metal hoops, long straps, what looks like could be a sharp dagger along the base. She's right out of a fantasy movie, looking sexy and deadly, and Crixus coughs a little loudly into his fist, looking downright pleased. 

"I guess if attention seeking is what we're going for," Duro mutters, side eying his cousin. "Saxa, you're one movement away from a nip slip."

"It's all taped down." Saxa preens, dusts her fingers over her sternum, along the bare skin covered subtly in gold glitter. 

"I don't-" Duro starts but cuts himself off as boots land on the steps, a peppy gate as Pietros makes his way down. 

He's wearing leather leggings, the type that cling along his calves and thighs, leaving no space for imagination. It all suits the mesh shirt he's wearing, the fabric shining silver in the right light, half hidden under what can only be called a cloak. It's shiny too, the underlining made up of a fabric feathers, each of them gleaming and slick. They go up into the hood that he's pulled up, a line of dark eyeshadow from his brow to the edge of his nose making his features look sharp - severe. 

"You're practically naked." Barca speaks up from where he's leaning on the mantel, his arms crossed over his chest. 

"I'm a black swan." Swishing his cape back, Pietros holds his head high. " In the ballet, she was a powerful sorceress. I figured it was fitting."

"For your true self?" Barca raises and eyebrow but Saxa is quick to cut in, tosses her arm over Pietros' shoulders, her furry cuff brushing his cheek. 

"Sexy, mysterious, not what he seems. Pietros is well on his way to being the hottest piece of ass in that club."

"Yeah? Well make sure, this hot piece of ass," Barca lets his eyes rove over both of them, grimacing a little. "is safe tonight."

"Of course." Saxa vows, smacks a kiss to Pietros' cheek. “Nothing’s gonna happen to babycakes.”

Before anyone can add anything else, the final pair of feet - encased in all white Sk8-Hi Vans - appear at the top of the stairs. Agron stops in the middle of the living room, his thumb nail still worried between his teeth as Nasir starts to come down. It’s like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room, left just to vacuum as all the attention is focused forward, with baited breath.

His legs seem to go on forever, bare skin dusted over with gold glitter, up from his calves and then his knees. White silk cuts over his upper thigh, a loose pair of shorts joined with a thin strapped tank top to make a small romper - looking too delicate to be anything but expensive lingerie. Two pairs of feathered wings sprout out from a strap on his back, the edges dusted in gold as well. Nasir has his hair down, all of it, the edges curled around his face, holding up the circlet of gold nestled along his crown. 

" _Angel._ " Gannicus gasps, his voice the only sound in an otherwise silent room. "Holy fuck, Nasir. Divine! Celestial! Seraphic!"

“Gannicus, shut up!” Duro reaches over, slaps the back of his head. “You do look amazing though, _Schatzi_.” 

“Ethereal.” Castus adds, his voice soft, awestruck. 

Nasir flushes under the compliment, fiddling with a white and gold filigree mask in his hand. It's made to look like lace, the entire thing delicate and fragile. He ducks his head a little, the gold around his eyes glimmering in contrast to the soft curve of his mouth. He’s not used to this – to all the skin showing and all the attention. Half the time, he’s wearing Agron’s clothes, the fabric loose and comfortable. Like this though, he looks like he has just descended from heaven itself, wrapped in gold and silk. 

Agron doesn't say anything, can't say anything, can barely breathe as he steps over the floor, stops himself just short of touching. Up close, he can see the dark smudge of massacre on Nasir's long eyelashes, the gold flakes clinging to the tops of his cheeks and along the edges of his eyes, into his temples. There is something just, unearthly about him. Like he’s untouchable. Like Botticelli crafted him and then brought him to life. 

"You look exquisite." Agron murmurs, lifts his fingers to tilt Nasir's face up. 

"Thank you." The flush on Nasir's cheeks only helps high light how pretty he actually is, shifting a little in his sneakers. 

"Can I-?" Agron's fingers hesitate just over the strap on Nasir's shoulder, the silk cut down into a deep v on the front. With a silent nod, Nasir gives his permission, sucks in a soft breath as Agron drags his fingertips along the collar, down onto his sternum, and then over to his waist. He's gentle with his tracing, caressing the silk and lace, down to where the shorts cut high up on the side. All Agron can feel is soft skin, warm just under the edge of the fabric where his fingers stop, tracing the edge of his ass. Agron's eyes snap up to Nasir's face sharply. 

"It's there." Nasir flushes bright, shifting his weight as Agron's hand slips further in, his palm now cupping his cheek. "There just isn't much of it."

"Nasir." Agron murmurs, brow furrowing, but before he can continue, Spartacus is suddenly stepping off the wall, drawing their attention. He can already see this getting off track. 

"Okay. It seems we're all ready." He turns in a slow circle, gesturing to Castus. “If you’d be so kind.”

“Right.” Castus coughs, pushes himself off of the doorway. He makes a point of not looking at anyone for too long, focusing more on Spartacus than anyone else. “Nasir has installed tiny cameras in all of your masks, so we can have full visuals. Your earrings or headpieces also contain the audio so it’s important you don’t lose them or we won’t be able to communicate with you.”

“That being said, we’ll only be limited to what you can see and hear, so try not to swing your head around too much or we won’t get a clear shot.” Nasir adds, making sure each of them are paying attention to him. “No crazy dancing. No hooking up, Saxa Giesler.”

“I’m offended!” Saxa hisses, her teeth bared. “My girlfriend-“

“I know, I know.” Nasir rolls his eyes, grinning mischievously. “I’m under strong instructions to make sure you are returned safe to her. Alone. And fairly sober.”

“Me? I’ve got knives in places she wouldn’t even dream.” Saxa wiggles her hips a little. “Spartacus, give your wife my humblest thanks.”

“I will.” Spartacus only grimaces a little, eyes glancing down over Saxa’s tight costume. There isn’t much room for anything in that leotard, but he doesn’t think to ask questions. 

Unfurling his fingers, Nasir places a clear piece of plastic, much like a small earbud, into his ear. It's attached to a large gold cuff, the edges spiked, and held in place by curling around the cartilage of his ear. To the average onlooker, it just appears like an overly large set of earrings. 

"One side is the mic, one side is the speaker." Castus explains, helping Pietros put in his own, silver pair. "If they fall out, or you're caught, you can just tell people they're a fancy hearing aid."

“We’re not going to get caught.” Nasir murmurs, draws his hair to the side as he lifts his mask to his face. “Ags, help me?”

Agron takes the gold strings and carefully loops them over Nasir’s ears, ties them in a secure bow just at the base of Nasir’s hair line. He ends it all with a warm press of his lips, kisses the little curls that are hidden there. Every moment they get closer to leaving, Agron’s stomach twists hotter and tighter, fearful of knowing what’s to come. It’s the calm before the fall, like he’s been riding up and up on a roller coaster, suspended right before the plummet down. 

“Promise me, you’ll be careful tonight.” Agron turns Nasir around, looks into those eyes he loves so much. 

“Extra careful.” Nasir promises. “I’ve got a knife in the base of my wings and mace tucked into my shoes. I’m armed, babe, I promise.”

“No heroes, yeah?” Agron prompts him, can’t help the edge his voice takes. He knows his boyfriend. He knows what will happen if shit hits the fan. “Just get yourself and the team out if you need to. Everyone else can fend for themselves.”

“I will.” Nasir laces their fingers together, presses a kiss to Agron’s knuckles. “If you promise not to kill Castus in the van.” 

“I will…try.” Agron forces out, covers it up by leaning down and kissing Nasir instead. 

They’re surrounded on all sides by people, people who are waiting on them so they can leave, but Agron doesn’t care. He takes his time, pours his love into this kiss so even when Nasir is far away, he’ll feel it. He has to know, no matter what that Agron loves him above all else. He wants to tell Nasir that it’s not too late, that they can cancel these plans, come up with something different. But Nasir pulls back with that smile, so fucking beautiful with a brilliant mind and a bruised mouth, and Agron can do nothing but let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to the [the dangerous type playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4WXRoW4aZxApvDupxUVJbv?si=MgA4xOMlSrCmbHA70gsSXw) here


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